The Angel of Music
by Lokis-Army-1st-Lieutenant
Summary: (Sequel to Silver and Scales) Harper Solstrom is caught in a grotesque bargain with Loki when he claims her for his own. What purpose does he have to court a Midgardian woman? Rated M for explicit and gory material. (Sequel is She Who Understands) AU.
1. In Dreams, He Came

The Angel of Music

Chapter One: In Dreams, He Came

I heard his voice like the small ghost of a whisper upon a light breeze, as if he were in bed with me, lying beside my body under the soft blankets of my bedroom. I thought it was the wind blowing through under the small window slit beside my head, but the curtains didn't give into a draft. My eyes stayed closed, and I wondered if a man had broken into my house and was sitting in the room with me, waiting. The haunted feeling of anxiety and fear crept into my stomach. I tightened my eyes, hoping against hope that my fear was causing some delusion.

Yet, even in the silence of my bedroom—in the mellowed quiet of my small, middle class house—there was the same low drawl of a man's voice in my ear, though subtle and sleek as if he intended not to harm or frighten me. I couldn't feel his breath, but even then I was sure that this specter was lying beside me, hearing my own breathing—though mine was soft panic.

"_Joyous song comes from your mouth, little one,"_ he whispered against the prickled hairs of my neck, "_I hear you upon that stage, and although you believe that you are the most inferior of the chorus; it is your song that attracts me to you. You hear me. I know this…"_

I slowly opened my eyes. Adjusted to the darkness, aided by the sliver of moonlight that peeked through my curtains, I glanced warily around my bedroom and saw only the standing silhouettes of my dresser, entertainment center, end table, and the coatrack hanging against my closed door. I turned anxiously onto my back, expecting a night time stranger; but, to my relief, my right hand met an empty space where a partner should lie.

The clench in my stomach eased only a short while until I heard his voice again.

It was both alluring and frightening; although it held a pleasant baritone, like molten silver upon silk, I was very aware that there was not a soul in my house. Yet I heard him as if he was there with me on my sheets.

"_Sing, my little chorus girl; sing as you have done on that stage."_

"I don't know who you are, or if you are real," I answered softly. I thought that I was going mad. Here I was in my bedroom alone, talking to myself. Or was I?

"_Doesn't this seem familiar to you?" _said the silken voice in amusement. "_It is very much like the opera in which you play the understudy of the innocent maiden, the one who bequeaths the phantom behind a mirror. Do you know of it?"_

"I know it," I replied. His phrase of words gave me subtle hints that he either was not from this part of Kentucky or that he was raised an English gentleman; or, perhaps, he was a constant role player in Shakespearean English plays and admired the wording. I found it liberating from the abusive slang of my generation; it was steadily arousing and equally erotic. I added with a small note of confidence as long as he was polite to me,

"Are you an avid fan of '_the Phantom of the Opera'_?" I asked curiously, turning my head left to right. I had been frightened. Now, I was left intrigued.

His voice had only come to me in dreams. Although I thought that it was a desirably abnormal idea to believe that what I dreamed was coming true, I couldn't help but hope to know the face of the voice that spoke to me so easily and serenely through my lonely nights.

"_It is a beautiful fairy tale,"_ returned the voice in my bedroom. "_No doubt, it is similar to our situation."_

"Am I mad?" I asked quietly into the dark.

"_You feel so only because those in your situation are put in the confinement of a padded cell and chains, my dove; but no,"_ he assured me with a smirk upon his tone, "_you're not mad."_

"Then you _are_ the voice that speaks to me in my dreams…Aren't you?" I hoped to receive a clear answer. When he didn't answer me immediately, I felt as if I had offended him. Did I say something wrong? I felt, then, a small quake of fear.

What happened in those films when the voices stopped speaking?

"Whatever you are, _who_ever…you are…" I whispered in the darkness of my room. "Please…don't hurt me."

There was still silence in the air. Then…

"_Unless…"_ his voice drawled with distinct intention and purpose, "_what you want is for me to hurt you."_

A long pregnant pause came over me…us…

I bit my lower lip in daunting anxiety.

"_I beg for you not do so…"_ I said under my breath.

"_You are very well-spoken among your kind,"_ he answered to my quiet prayer. "_There is hope for Midgardians alike, once I avail myself to your Realm."_

"Realm?" I said aloud. "Are you an alien?"

"_To your mind, and all alike, yes," _the voice answered.

"Is that how you can read my mind?" I asked.

"_Hmm…"_ he purred. "_You are an inquisitive little thing, aren't you? Questions, questions."_

He made a small laugh in the blackness of my bedroom.

It irked me, for I had never heard him laugh—not in my dreams nor in my head. Until now, it didn't dawn on me that this stranger in the night could actually be some sort of dark man with a knack for ventriloquism or a hypnotist. Feeling that I might have been played, I rose from position on the bed and sat up, drawing the sheets around me for security, despite being fully clothed from my shoulders to my feet.

"Whoever is in my house," I said boldly, "I'll call for help. I'll call the police. I'll scream…if you touch me."

The small laugh in the room increased into one of blown amusement and hilarity. It echoed against the walls as if my carpet had been torn away from the floor boards—as if nothing could stop it. The small amount of bravery that I had mustered quickly vanished. I sunk back into my bed, my stomach churning.

"Stop…" I said. "_Stop_."

"_Are you frightened, my little songbird?"_

I nodded. Then I wondered if he could actually see me. So I answered honestly,

"_Yes,"_ my small voice breathed only to where I could hear. I said with a louder insistence, "Yes. I am…"

"_You could call for help; but your rescuers would believe that you've gone mad. You could call out for help, but who would hear you at this time of night; especially since your mind reels with uncertainty that there is anyone _really_ in your house."_ A small sigh was at my ear. "_Midgardians and their rushed reach for logic…It's truly amusing how easily the lot of you crave for a reason to doubt that any true magic exists. Especially," _he added with a soft mocking affliction, "_when you pray to a God, that elusive and ever gone Jesus Christ."_

"Each to her own belief system," I muttered.

"_Each to her own God," _he returned. "_Do you believe that others exist?"_

"Other what?"

"_Other Gods…Or is this Jesus Christ the only deity that can rule other beings?"_

I couldn't give the absent stranger an answer that befitted my truer beliefs. Honestly, I was starting to doubt all that I believed in when I vainly searched for a face that didn't exist, all the while hearing this man so close to me.

"_Suddenly quiet, pet?"_ the voice taunted me. "_That is a lot of hesitation for a simple yes or no answer."_

"It's not that simple."

"_Oh, yes, it is,"_ he remarked. "_Either you believe or you do not; surprisingly, it is not as confusing as the human race makes it out to be. You will know soon enough…A coward, this God is, not to reveal himself to his patrons. But I'm not."_

"Then you are a God…?" I called out in my bedroom.

"_A god, a King, as both are addressed to a man like me." _

"Should I call you a god?" I said curiously.

"_Once more, you astound me with your line of interrogation; how perceptive you must be." _Although his words held some sincerity, his tone was highly condescending. "_My dove, you have ever walked in front of me and never turned to me…."_

His last sentence made me shift uncomfortably in my bed. So he was a man after all.

"Are you here," I asked with anxious anticipation, "to put me in my place, stranger?"

That laugh returned, the small one that was both amused and yet not so much. It was hard to tell whether or not he was faking how much he found me entertaining or if he thought that I was the subtle idiot that a '_Midgardian'_ was intended to be. I assumed that it was a patronizing scoff.

"How could I walk past you and not recognize you?" I asked while he was in mid-laughter.

His voice cut off during my sentence. Without understanding, I felt the familiar daunting dread that had filled me earlier when he had stopped speaking for what seemed several minutes. Once more, he withheld an explanation; and I realized that I wanted him to continue talking to me. My curiosity was peaked; and for some reason, I felt a terrible need to please him.

"I'm sorry," I said, though I wasn't sure of the reason for my apology. I was blank.

When he didn't respond, I sat up.

"Don't stop talking," I pleaded. "Please?"

"_Now the little Christine wishes for me to speak…"_

I felt relieved to hear him, but once more quaked with odd anxiety.

"I didn't mean to offend you," I said. "I just…"

"_You…just want to know more about me, is that it?"_

"Well, yes," I answered, pleased.

He knew what I wanted, apparently. Although I was relieved to know that he understood my intentions, I was plagued by the fact that he could read me so well. If he had intruded in my dreams, surely he knew every little thing about me by now: my name, my tastes, my hobbies and interests…

I felt my cheeks burn when I realized, too, that he might have dug deeper into my darkest fantasies. I licked my lips nervously at the idea. Although I felt my inner being stir with obvious peril, I felt a burning ache in my lower belly—arousal. Surely this voice—this _god—_knew that I was beginning to appreciate his presence ever more.

"_I know the thoughts that have crept through your filthy mind, my little songstress; and they've gone unanswered,"_ he said with a subtle, husky voice.

I closed my eyes. It was intoxicating, as if his words ran down my throat and fed the spark of what had been a dead pit for the longest years of my life. I hadn't felt this aroused by mere words since my last dinner party with the man who took the part of the Phantom during our last week's rehearsal of _The Phantom of the Opera._

The stranger's voice, a low roll of thunder, continued to speak.

"_Your dreams are fraught with untouched desires, and I know each," _he cooed with distinct flavor, "_and every…one of them. I know that you have not enticed your innocent soul with these fantasies…Hm. What would your co-workers think of you if they knew the naughty girl that lay unpunished in your lower belly?"_

I bit my lip, not from nerves, but from arousal.

A growing ache kneaded between my legs.

If he continued to speak in the low voice, it wouldn't take much more to pursue my release—a very much needed thing in my upstaged life, I might add.

"_I have walked by your fragile body and have seen those human males pass at you, and why shouldn't they? But they only admire your body, as do I, but there is much more beneath you than mild curves and pale skin, isn't there?"_

I lowered myself to my pillows.

"_You, a Midgardian lark among the scuttle birds in your little choir…Isn't that how you see yourself when you look into the mirror every morning?"_

I didn't answer.

"_Harper…"_

I broke the skin upon my bottom lip upon hearing my name slip through my dark bedroom. My reaction could have been a dramatic one. That sound that I emitted from my mouth was an obvious moan. I was wet.

"_Harper, are you listening to me?"_

"Yes…" I answered in partial acknowledgment.

My hands were tangled beneath my comforter, twisting and pulling on the sheets underneath my body. It felt as if the room had become a hot zone. I was sweating.

"_Is it so easy to arouse my dove that I can merely speak and you are ready?"_

Ready for what?

My eyes opened, somewhat alarmed though very much aflame. I sat up apprehensively I glanced around the room restlessly, purged by fear once more. The whiplash of being aroused and being afraid was slowly running my mind and body ragged. A good night sleep would never come to me as long as I was meddling in one of those strong emotions.

To my relief, though certainly making me believe that I was beginning to be paranoid, there was still nobody in the room. I waited, waiting to hear rustled footsteps in the house. Yet through the open doors of my grounded residence, I heard no one come in or out of the house. No locks were being broken; no windows were being opened. I was still alone.

Yet even in my solitude, I felt the breath of a man upon the crook of my neck as if he was sitting in bed with me. I turned and saw no one.

"_You're frightened…"_

The absent stranger, this elusive Casanova…he spoke to me as if he was right beside me. I assumed that the soft breath upon my heated skin was the same person who was seducing me with his voice. I was amazed and terrified. It was, in a word, exciting.

"_Relax, pet…"_ he hissed to me.

"But…" I objected loosely, as if to save what little pride that I had as an honest woman. My words failed me. What my lips did afterward was unsuccessfully form the word "No".

"_No?"_ he said to me, intrigued. "_Your mind is torn in a decadent rival of restraint and benevolent temptation. I can sense it; and it's tasteful."_

"I don't want to be thought of as a slut…" I said frankly.

I was still _very_ aware that I was speaking to no one. I faced to where the voice was coming from, and even though I felt his breath on my neck—and then wet lips caress the starting joint of my neck and shoulder—I kept thinking that this was not happening. I wasn't terrified or regretful of what was taking place. As a woman who had dire needs—obviously not satisfied, for I had been single for the last two years—and I was beginning to take kindly to what this spirit had to offer. No, I was curious. _No, I was mind blown _that this specter or god—or whatever he was—was in my bed, seducing me.

I could feel his lips gently and tenderly kiss the heated skin of my neck.

I made a noise of approval and arousal.

"_Lie down, pet…_"

Throwing logic and theory out the window, I wordlessly obeyed.

"_You're my submissive sparrow, are you not? So easily bridled…"_

"What do I call you?"

"_What do you call me, Harper?"_

I felt my cheeks burn and my stomach turn at the sound of my name on his fictional tongue.

How could an invisible being turn me on so much just by uttering my name? I found it to be a little unnerving. I was not so easy like the other girls on stage, those whom would throw their bodies to the first few patrons who would give them the eye. It was hard to refuse this one, however. It…_He_…was so mystical and enigmatic. The mystery itself was arousing.

"_What does young Christine call the Phantom?" _asked the voice eloquently, properly maintained by interrogative reasoning.

I felt my cheeks burn with keen embarrassment, but I felt a familiar gush of moisture spill from my wet sex as I uttered the answer to his trivia question,

"_Master…"_ I said quietly, dipped in renewed arousal.

He apparently knew the answer, for his voice—the only thing that I had to judge with to know his character—was clearly smug and knowing.

"_Then,"_ he said, "_That is what you shall call me, pet."_

He was dominating me, and I knew that's what was happening.

"_Why don't we test out our little exchange, hm?"_

I remained silent.

"_Harper, I know that you can hear me…"_

I felt as if my fantasies were warped into reality. I felt filthy, but that's what was so great about it…right?

"_Harper, answer me."_

"Yes…"

"_Yes, what?" _he inclined pointedly.

"Yes…_Master…_" I whispered into the empty darkness.

"Good girl."

I bit my lip once more upon hearing the subtle praise from the low voice in my ear.

Wet lips came to press upon the patch of skin beneath my earlobe. I heard the small noise of initial contact as he kissed the start of a hot trail from the joint of my jaw behind the cradle of my ear—I uttered an aroused whimper as he followed through the line of my jawbone, to the underside of my chin, and to the other side of my jaw. I remained still, though my fingers viciously curled in the sheets beneath my body.

"_You have an excellent restraint, but your voice betrays you; how beautiful you must sound when you are pushed over your limits. It is different," _he articulated, "_when it is a man feeding you pleasure than when it is your…taut fingers…"_

I closed my eyes.

It was if the missing pieces were drawn. In my mind, a silhouette of a man lay beside me, his head angled to watch my reaction; and un-seeable eyes watched my hands grip the sheets. I couldn't picture what he would look like, merely because I had no description of what being could arouse me with so much as just saying my name.

"_So fragile, so submissive…I should have courted you long ago, before you even were named an understudy. Your voice is beautiful, and so you accept mine…What will further push you over the edge, pet?"_

I couldn't answer.

"_Oh, Harper…"_

"I want to know what you look like…" I said. It was then that I was aware that I want heavily breathing. "Show me…?"

"_Have you forgotten our little transaction?"_

"Show me, please…Master…" I whispered his title, though I was vaguely uncomfortable in calling him that.

It seemed so unbefitting in a time like this where slavery was abolished. It was so medieval, incomprehensible…but I liked it.

"_Good girl, you learn fast."_

He said nothing for a minute, then—

"_Open your eyes, and I will show you the god who rests in your bed…"_

I was compelled to obey, but fright began to creep back into my stomach.

Show me? How long had this stranger been _lying next me? _The whole time?

I opened my eyes, partially out of beckoned irritation, but my frustration was quickly dispelled as a magical thing happened.

Materializing as if hidden underneath a magic cloak, a man with raven-black hair and deep green eyes peered back at me with a smug look on his face. He wore a…_flattering…_suit of green and gold armor, made of a leather and metal. His pale skin was as mine, and I stared at him as if…No, there was no 'as if'. This person, this wizard, _was_ a magical feat.

Surprised, I rolled out of bed from shock, and scampered on my hands and knees to dark carpet in the middle of the dark room.

My master to whom I called that made an amused chuckle. I sat clear across the other side of the room, at first huddled with my arms over my knees, frightened. As he slid off the bed with amiable grace, I rose to my feet and grabbed the first thing that I could touch off my dresser. I held it a-vast in front of me defensively, now aware that there _was_ a man in my room.

"You…" I breathed, quacked, still, by the burning ache between my legs. "You…_Who are you?"_

Although very charming—and it did not help me at all when his lips parted into a handsome smile—I was _keenly_ aware that this had been the same man who had been kissing on my neck and speaking to me all night. It didn't solve my problem in knowing that the same voice had been in my dreams. That was inexplicable.

When he didn't answer my breathless question, I repeated myself,

"_Who are you?"_ I said strongly, flustered but very coherent.

"You _are_ frightened of me," said the stranger.

Although his face was unrecognizable, the purr in his voice was a match to the one that I had submitted to just moments ago. I stared at him.

He didn't step toward me, though he posed no sign of being threatened. He measured my size and strength and evidently knew that I had no way of defending myself.

"I am Loki," said the stranger with measured sweetness, "of Asgard."

"Why are you in my room? Why—? How—? How did—?"

"I'm not from your Realm, Harper," said Loki.

He was able to distinguish my interrogation despite my evident lacked ability to speak.

"Why don't you put that stuffed animal down?" he suggested with a pointed finger at my weapon.

"Wha—?"

I glanced down at my blunt object and frowned.

It was a stuffed bear that I held in my hands. _Completely_ harmless.

I lowered my collectible to the floor.

"_How did you get here?"_ I said quietly. "My house is locked."

"As I said, I'm not from your Realm," said Loki politely.

"How did you read my mind? _Who are you?"_ I asked boldly.

Loki made a gesture with his hand. A whirring sound came from behind me. I looked over my shoulder and saw dark, green eyes peering back at me. I jumped, startled, and shuttled forward. It was a clone; and I only figured that out when the real Loki moved his hand and the imposter disappeared like a hologram. I turned my attention to Loki. I was at his feet.

"It's rude to speak to a play mate from across a distance," said Loki, peering down at me. "You are so jumpy. However, it has made the second step of our little midnight rendezvous much easier."

"Second step?"

Loki's hand came to my chin. I started again, surprised by his quick movement, and steadied when he held me fast. I was frightened, and yet now that I had a face to go with the voice, I was aroused.

He could sense the switch of my mood, for a wide smile came across his face.

"Good girl, you're learning your place. I suppose that you're one of the few that I don't have to make kneel before me. Such an…obedient little mistress that you'll make," he mused with invitation.

I attempted to pull my face away, to gain some sort of rebellious action; but he was stronger than me, and he directed my eyes to meet his sternly.

"_No, Harper,_" he said in that arousing low voice. "That is a lesson that you will have to learn. Obedience is a path to reward. Disobedience will earn you punishment." He smirked. "However, considering your brooding little mind, _that_ in itself would be an awarding night for you, wouldn't it?"

My eyes widened.

I forgot that he knew my fairy tale sexcapades.

"Why me?" I asked him with subtle curiosity. "Why choose me? Am I to be your sex slave?"

"Sex slave? You make it sound so obtrusive and disgusting," he remarked. He removed his hand from my chin. He leaned forward, grabbing my hand, and pulled me to my feet. Loki placed firm hands upon my shoulders.

I easily felt intrigued by the objection in his voice.

"I'm an Asgardian who respects the women of my Realm and the others underneath Asgard, pet," he sighed. "An Asgardian can have an Asgardian mistress, and nobody bats an eye."

He smiled.

"Because," he added smoothly, "there are many like her. Now…" he said, "a Midgardian mistress…that's something different entirely."

I stared at him.

"I'm not a pet," I told him.

"Duly noted, but I can make you mine," he said with little resolve.

I licked my lips in consideration.

"Why me, though?" I asked, beckoned by curiosity. "Of all the insolent sluts that roam…_Midgard, _is it? Why me?"

"Oh, your inquisition is enduring; but you mustn't ask so many questions, let you be vexed."

Loki's hand caressed the underside of my chin vacantly.

I found him sweet and polite, but there was a sure, dominant, and insufferable side to him. Asgard, apparently, was where he _was_ a king. No longer. Or that's what I conceived from our transaction. He intended to make me his servant.

I had no contract to anybody. Aside from my rehearsals at the Opera house, I had nothing going on that was exciting. He had lit me with arousal like no other man ever had. And, perhaps, if he remained so cordial with me, it wouldn't be so bad.

"You've gone quiet again," said Loki.

"I'm thinking."

"That's a haunting perception," he added with a small smile.

"What is your purpose on Earth?" I asked.

I knew that I was prying, but I really wanted to know.

"Yet the sparrow bargains with the fox…" Loki mused with a light glint in his eyes. "One day, your pretty little mouth might receive you answers that you will not want, nor require. Think twice before asking questions that might hurt you, pet."

I absorbed his words. Then I nodded my head slowly.

"Fine…" I said in resignation. "I don't want to know."

Loki smiled, pleased. Slender fingers cupped the right side of my face; they were soft and pale. My stomach pulled with rejuvenated delight. The lightest touch burned me, and I liked it.

"Let this," he said smoothly, "be a taste of what is in store for you, little songbird…"

He leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine. He parted my swollen mouth with his tongue. I closed my eyes. His tongue cornered every fire that had been sparked. He caressed my tongue at first with delicious tenderness then with deliberate passion. I moaned into the kiss; and I felt the corners of his mouth upturn into what was unmistakably a smirk.

His hand that cupped my face fell to the nape of my neck; his fingertips and his thumb pressed into either side of my neck with tepid force. I felt the pads of my fingers prickle in delight. His other hand tangled into my brunette hair and pulled my head back. The new angle deepened his kiss. I returned it, albeit weak. Loki made a small noise of approval as I met his kiss.

He pulled back, and I gasped for air.

When I opened my eyes, he was gone.

I held out my hands to reach for him, making certain that he hadn't put himself—or me—under disillusionment spell as before. I felt nothing. There wasn't anybody in the room.

Then—

"_I can't wait to see you perform tomorrow night, my little Christine…"_


	2. My Soul Was Weak, Forgive Me

The Angel of Music

Chapter Two: My Soul Was Weak, Forgive Me

The rest of my night was bereft of dreams; it was something that I wasn't accustomed to, merely for the reason that I could remember most of them in the morning that followed. This was different. I awoke early, mere minutes before the sun came up; and my body was hot from sweat and a pleasure that wasn't sated from the night before. I was dazed, but not confused. I could hear small pieces of our conversation—between Loki and me—and it was as if I had been in a room full of doctors lit by several CCs of morphine.

As was my normal routine, I made my way through light traffic and slow pedestrians to step into an empty theater, the Lawless Opera House.

Through damasked corridors and dark hall ways, I walked knowingly. The Opera House was only its most beautiful when it was expecting company; it stayed dark and unholy during rehearsals and ever much like an abandoned building. The only light that was provided was from a chandelier up in the main auditorium, emitting just enough light to see who was who and what was what. The lighting on the stage was the most grandeur, as it was always the center of attention for our patrons.

The sheets of music in my hand crumpled from tension as I heard familiar voices began to speak affirmatively behind the drawn curtain. I recognized them easily as the leady lady as Belinda Conner.

Belinda would have made an astounding Christine Daae if she wasn't so arrogant and insolent in reality. While beautiful and graced with artistic fair, the woman could barely give credit where credit was due. Any praise or love that the Lawless Opera House was allegedly done by her hand and no others; however, if we received negative reviews, it was almost always the producer's fault.

There was no satisfying the prima donna.

Belinda's high-strung voice silenced as a second female's countered hers. The soft tone and charismatic appeal—the voice of a sycophant—was the soft-spoken and soft-hearted understudy of Meg Giry. Her name was Lauren, and she was well-known for being a woman who rode the fence on here say.

The conversation between Belinda and Lauren was an example of how the quiet of nature tried to appease the rebellious storm through flattery and praise. It made me sick.

"I was given a 24 hour notice that my husband would deliver me some flowers, and did he not? _No."_ Belinda's whine sent annoyed goosebumps up my arms. "If you ever get married, Lauren, you make sure that your fiancé is wrapped around your finger before you put him in the sack."

"I'm sure that he'll make it up to you," said Lauren sweetly.

"Oh, and it won't be so subtle. He's got the balls of a mouse when he should have the balls of a bull," Belinda said angrily.

Unable to help myself, I passed the conversation passively with the statement,

"Maybe if you stopped holding them so tightly, he might be able to let his boys breathe."

I turned around to see their expressions.

Belinda's eyes narrowed at me unhappily. Lauren looked fearful, but said nothing.

"What did you say to me, you little shrew?"

Here was the Belinda that nobody saw. She was charismatic, charming, and benevolent on stage; but when the curtains closed, she was savage and crude. The entire theater was fooled by her distinctive charm. Only the cast knew that she was a spoiled brat beneath that sweet exterior.

"It's just a small piece of advice," I shrugged.

She stood a foot taller than me. Although I would usually shrink back, I felt a swift boost of confidence and bravery that I hadn't felt before until last night. After being in the presence of somebody who could have obviously broke my body in half, the pampered prima donna didn't frighten me in the slightest. Her imposing figure made it merely visible that she was trying to intimidate me like she did with Lauren and the other chorus girls. I merely smiled, and she frowned when she realized that I was not afraid of her.

"How does it feel," she asked me venomously, "to know that you can study all those pages and sing all you like in your rehearsal…only to know that you will _never_ replace me, Harper?"

The smug benefaction on my face quickly evaporated.

She smirked triumphantly.

"Yeah, Harper. I know that you want to be me. I know it. That's why I'm so much better than you because I can _sing_ worth a damn. I'm louder, I'm sharper, and—"

"And you slept with the producer in order to get your part," I added crudely.

She stared at me.

"You've got a smart mouth, Harper."

"That's why I never had to use mine to blow the executive producer either."

Lauren covered her mouth with dire suppression of laughter behind Belinda's back. Belinda's mouth fell open in anger. She struggled for words, but she could find none that would express the revulsion on her face.

"You wish you were me," snapped Belinda. "You and all the others who work in this place…"

"You'd be surprised how many of them are actually glad that they are nothing like you, Belinda," I remarked sharply. I held out the sheet music in front of her face. "You have a pretty voice, but you lack passion."

"I lack _nothing_," she hissed furiously. "How dare you criticize me—?"

I shrugged and turned my back to her. There was no working with her. I started to walk away, but Belinda reached forward and grabbed my arm. Her fingernails dug deep into my forearm as I she pulled me back.

"Listen, here, you little scab," she said angrily; blue eyes penetrated mine as she wrung her fingers around my arm, "you are _nothing_ here at this Opera House. You sing, you dance—but you will never have the lime light. It's _mine."_

Lauren stepped in to intervene,

"Come on, Belinda, Harper's only envious of you."

The small defense made Belinda's eyes shift from Lauren to me. She decided that this was true and released my arm and pushed me away from her.

"Lauren's right," Belinda drawled with a snooty smile. "I shouldn't waste my time on a nobody like you."

I said nothing.

Even if I wanted to, my chance was blown away as the maestro came onto the stage and directed the prima donna and Lauren out of the chambers. I was left alone in the theater, or so I thought. One of the executive producers, Darren How—a sweet, portly man with thick glasses but a rich taste in Bach and Mozart—stepped up the small staircase to stand beside me. We both faced the theater. For a minute, we were silent.

"Harper, my dear," he sighed, "you've _got_ to stop arguing with everybody on set."

"It's not me," I said quietly, though I knew that I took ownership in those named quarrels.

"Don't lie to me, Harper," Darren said serenely. "We both know the truth."

We didn't look at each other.

Darren How was the only person on the staff that hadn't slept with Belinda; so he was the only person, aside from Lauren, that I vaguely liked. While the other producers invested their time and money into the pampered leading lady, Darren took the time to entrust some valuable hours of rehearsal and a secured finance to help me through the long weeks. He was a nice, generous, and polite gentleman; and Darren seemed to be the only one who thought that my passion for music and singing was not hanging by a thread.

"You're right about Ms. Conner," said Darren sincerely. "She's a bitch."

I smiled without restraint.

"But you must treat her with kindness as the rest of us do."

"I'm not simpering to a palace prat," I said defiantly. "I've worked here longer than the other miscreants that you've put above me."

"You see, you tell Belinda that she's arrogant; and here you stand beside me, putting yourself above all others."

"I know that I'm good," I retorted.

"Not just good, Harper; you're brilliant," he added with a small smile.

I glanced at him.

"Why, then, do you still let her be Christine?"

"I offered you the parts of Meg Giry and La Carlotta, but you declined."

I pursed my lips. He sighed and shook his head slowly.

"I know how you feel about singing a secondary part, but you can't be picky."

"Last year, I was Maria from West Side Story; and I gave the theater the most profit that it had seen in five years, Darren." I made a scoffing sound and handed him the sheets of music. "I've practiced the lines of Christine for _months._ I carry the pages just so I don't crinkle Ms. Pampered Bottom"—I rudely indicated Belinda through the closed staged doors.

He took the sheets of music from my hands.

"Harper, there is nothing that I can do if you constantly berate others during rehearsal," he tiredly said. Darren pinched the bridge of his nose for patience. "You do deserve the part of Christine; but it's not up to me."

"Why can't you just pitch it to the other producers?"

"Because they all like what Belinda has to offer."

"Well, I don't doubt that for an instant," I remarked darkly.

At the derogative meaning behind my statement, Darren looked down at me in disapproval.

"I've told you once; I've told you a thousand times. My partners did not sleep with Belinda. She got the part because she has talent—"

"A talent that uses whips and chains behind closed _doors_," I remarked irritably. "Darren, they _fawn_ over her while she's in her dressing room. They flirt with her; they buy her things. They like her because she's gorgeous. They love her because she beds them after a grand opening!"

"Harper, stop," Darren sighed.

I clenched my teeth.

"Please," he said quietly, "just stop."

I frowned and turned my head back to the empty pews around the stage.

"You don't see what I see," I muttered.

"You are blinded my jealousy."

"A contribution made by you, no less," I stated coldly. He looked to me, hurt.

"Harper, I've only helped you because I think that you'll be going places."

"Yeah, but I can't very well do that when a toad is in that place!" I remarked hotly.

"She _earned _her spot."

"_I deserve my spot as well," _I said furiously, turning to him.

"Harper, please, don't argue with me," Darren said slowly. "I'm not your enemy. Don't argue with me. Not with me," he added in exhaustion.

I crossed my arms.

"You are twenty-two, Harper," said Darren gently. "You have done more than what Belinda has ever done in the forty-five years that she's been living. It is she that is jealous of _you_."

"She hides it well," I muttered passive-aggressively.

"The most insecure ones usually do," returned Darren with a smile.

I tendered my marks on my arm from Belinda's fingernails. She left tight indents in my skin, but otherwise, I would only suffer some minor bruising. Darren placed a consoling hand on my shoulder.

"You'll get your day, Harper. Just be patient."

I inwardly rolled my eyes.

That's what they all say…

However, I smiled to cover up my disappointment and patted his wrinkled hand.

"Of course, I will…" I muttered.

"Excellent." Darren made to leave. "Practice your lines, Harper. You're Belinda's understudy. We need you more than you realize."

I watched Darren leave the stage; then he walked out the door.

I was left by myself in the middle of an ambience of stage lights, poised beneath a spot light with crinkled sheets of music in my hand.

"_Ooh, that was hard to watch…"_

My eyes popped open in surprise as I turned around to see Loki; he was leaning up against the staged curtains, his body perched against the wall below the large valance. His arms were crossed, and a small smile was on his beautiful face. Those green eyes looked at me from the darker corners of the auditorium.

"What are you—?" I struggled for words. I was shocked to see him standing there. Just how long had been there? Or perhaps, he had merely arrived? Perhaps he just apparated from thin smoke…or maybe it was like last night when he had been there all along—masked by his magic.

"How long have you been standing there?" I managed.

"That's not really a concern," he dismissed.

Loki stepped forward into the light.

He wasn't wearing his armor like last night. Instead, he was dressed in a three piece business suit, flattered by a gold and green woven scarf and shiny black flats. He matched the decade of what was today, but he certainly looked out of place in a damask theater. Loki looked around as if to take in the sight of the Opera House; he wasn't impressed, as I could tell from his bored expression. I didn't expect him to be.

He approached me.

Once more, in his presence, I felt hot standing in front of him. The effect that he had on me was intoxicating and inexplicable. He could _breathe,_ and I could be ready for whatever he had in store for me. Distinctly, I wondered if all…_Asgardians…_had this tempting air about them; or perhaps he only had that radiation for his mere purposes.

He indicated his chin to the closed doors from where Belinda, Lauren, and Darren had exited previously,

"They seem like an insolent lot."

"Pampered, frightened…ignorant," I muttered, following his gaze.

"This is your normal routine, Harper?"

I turned to see that he was looking at me.

"It's a life," I shrugged.

He nodded slowly, though I wasn't sure if it was in agreement. He glanced down at the red marks on my arm. I folded my arms across my chest, particularly embarrassed for him to see Belinda's brutality. I did it so that I could hide it; however, Loki's hand stopped me. He took my wrist between his fingers and held out my arm.

"Never," he said softly, "_hide_ yourself from me."

"It's embarrassing," I excused my behavior.

"Some things are," he returned without looking at me. His hand upon my wrist turned my arm to show him the five crescent-moon dents along the crook of my elbow from where Belinda had grabbed me.

"Please stop staring…" I said quietly.

"One thing that you will learn, pet," he mused apathetically, "is that I do what I want."

I attempted to pull my arm out of his grasp, no longer comfortable under his penetrating gaze. For my disobedience, he counteracted and pulled me to him—the foot-gap between us was closed as he held me against him. My bold move was immediately rectified as insolent as he wrapped his fingers around both my wrists and held my limbs over his shoulder. I felt the tight wrapping of his other hand entangle his slender fingers into my hair and toss my head back; he made me look up into his piercing emerald green eyes.

From my wrought position, I was uncomfortable and vulnerable.

"I am in control of our little situation, pet," he said softly. "Remember what we discussed last night in your bedroom? Disobedience requires punishment. Did I not say that?"

"You did, Sir," I said, feeling a bit stunted by the hard look in his gaze.

"You're so intent on making a name for yourself, and you can't even obey the rules that your Midgardian authorities place on you. Tsk, tsk, tsk. A rebel…" he smiled. "Well, I have some news for you, Harper. You may not obey your meager boss in this dusty theater, my pet; but you _will_ obey me."

When I didn't reply, the fingers went taut in my hair and pulled my head back; I winced as I felt my roots try to break free. His move left my neck exposed. Loki's lips lowered mere inched from my bottom lip. I strained to remain capable of steady breathing. The angle from which he placed my neck was making it harder to swallow oxygen.

"_Harper…" _he crooned my name.

"I understand…" I managed to say. "I understand, Sir."

He smirked.

He placed a gentle kiss upon my bottom lip.

"Good girl."

He released me entirely. I rubbed my strained neck.

"Why are you here?" I asked, referring to the stage.

"I told you that I couldn't wait to see you perform tonight."

"But I'm an understudy."

Loki's smile widened.

"For now."

I stared at him suspiciously.

"All good things come to those who wait," said Loki pleasantly. "I think that you've waited long enough, don't you think?"

"Sir, whatever you're planning—if it involves Belinda—"

Loki stepped toward me and placed a finger against my lips.

"_Shhh…"_

I went silent.

"I know the envy that you feel in your heart," he said calmly. "I intend to make that disappear."

"Why?" I asked Loki.

"The mistress of an Asgardian God can have an award when it suits her," he said sweetly. Then his eyes gazed at me with ulterior intent. "But remember, pet. My prizes never come without a price…"

I stared at him.

"Sir?"

"I can give you what your heart desires," he said with open arms. "Claim loyalty to me; and I will give you what you need."

"Don't you have it, though, My Lord?" I asked curiously, indicating him with a hand.

"I intend to either win your loyalty or take what is mine."

The casual tone in his phrase caught me off guard.

"Then," I said, "You shall have it."

Loki smiled, amused.

"Oh, my dear, it's more than just _saying_ the words," he said.

"Well, don't you trust me?"

"Actions speak louder than words, pet."

"Then…I'll show you?" I said, but my voice betrayed me; I was tense with both an obvious anticipation of what was in store for me, but I feared that my claim was not truthful.

His lips parted to reveal a handsome grin. It melted me.

"You will sing tonight, dove," said Loki confidently. "_Then_ you will show me where your true loyalty lies."

He inclined a hand to the underside of my chin.

"Do not fight me again, Harper," he said; his other hand palmed my reddened arm.

"My soul was weak," I answered with small smile. "Forgive me…"

"You are forgiven," he returned.

The scent of mint and ice engulfed me as he pressed his lips against mine.

When I opened my eyes, he was gone again.

This time, I didn't try to find him.

Somewhere, anywhere, in the corners of the room or perhaps in my head alone, he was still with me. This time, I could feel it.


	3. I Know I Can't Refuse

The Angel of Music

Chapter Three: I Know I Can't Refuse

A few hours after my encounter with Loki, the stage hands and the actors returned to the Lawless Opera House. The understudies along with myself held back against the dark background of the stage while Belinda and her other co-workers began to rehearse the second song in the play, _Think of Me_. I sung the words under my breath, and as passionately as I would have liked to belt out the lyrics, I had to stay quiet or else Belinda would lose her concentration. I kept to the curtain, separated by choice from the other understudies. Belinda's precariously tuned soprano came in waves of forced signature. Originally, Belinda was supposed to be an alto; but she had sung _My Country Tis of Thee_ with the precise notes and therefore managed to pass as the seraphim of the choir.

Belinda struggled gracefully with the higher pitches of _Think of Me_; and those around me recognized it.

"_Think of me,_

_Think of me fondly_

_When we said_

_Goo-oo-o-."_

There it is. At the high pitch of her struggled word, Belinda "La Carlotta" Conner held up a hand to stop the maestro. She turned to him as if _he_ had played the notes wrong.

"I don't suppose that you could play it a little louder," said Belinda with a frown. "I'd like to hear the instruments, so that I may keep up with the rhythm."

"We all would like to hear the instruments over your voice," I muttered rudely.

My insolent remark to the prima donna didn't go unheard. She whipped around to look at me; the understudies and the actors on stage turned to follow her gaze. I saw the disapproving eye of Darren. Belinda, dressed in a flowing costume gown and donned in full make-up, stepped in front of me.

"What was that, little toad, what did you say to me?" remarked Belinda irritably.

I stayed silent.

"That's what I thought that you said…"

When she turned on her stiletto heel, the train of her dress flew up and smacked me across the face. It didn't hurt; merely, it stung the apple of my cheek. It was an annoying pain, much like the existence of Belinda herself. She seemed to have made her point as she returned to the center of the stage indifferently.

"Once again, Maestro," instructed Belinda.

He indicated the start of the practice with three swift raps of his conductor wand; and then the violinists seated in the pit reintroduced the song. I rubbed the stinging spot on my cheek as Belinda began again,

"_Think of me,_

_Think of me fondly_

_When we said,_

_Goodbye…"_

When she hit the note perfectly, Belinda glanced at me with a smug smile. I frowned as she continued,

"_Remember me,_

_Once in a while _

_Please promise _

_Yo-o-o-ou'll try…"_

She drowned out that note for far too long than what was necessary. Belinda's acting was atrocious as she walked along the stage. I was very aware that I was watching a play; the effect had to be as if one was watching a movie—expressive, passionate, realistic, and exotic. None of those words described Belinda Conner. Her act was as untidy as her personality.

Belinda's voice hesitated, over-pitched, under-pitched, and wavered toward the climax of the melody; and it was actually in one of my favorite parts…

I sung the lyrics under my breath to regain the patience that I required. The feeling was a lot like sitting in class and listening to the dull voice of the reader tonelessly scout out the words of a poem; so you read the passage on your own to help you cope with the senseless decay of one of Shakespeare's romantic tragedies.

I stood with the curtain in front of me, watching Belinda.

I remembered Loki's words, his indicated promise that I would take the stage come nightfall. Before, I didn't wish it upon Belinda the destiny that my master had in store for her; but after this, I invited it.

If My Lord could read my thoughts while standing before me upon the stage or in my room, he could hear them now.

Under my breath, as my words had been since the start of rehearsal, I invited Loki to hear me. I closed my eyes to speak my sordid prayer,

"I was hesitant before to have Belinda be in harm's way, but I could care less if she died today."

The words came easily to me.

_Remember those words, my pet_.

Loki's voice whispered in my head. I opened my eyes. My stomach dropped. Loki stood on the stage beside Belinda; but she was vaguely aware of his presence—and so was everyone else. Loki looked at Belinda with his deep, penetrating gaze. He looked at her as if she was the scum of the earth—a different expression that I hadn't seen anyone use while peering at her. He turned to me, and I met his gaze.

It was if the room went quiet; yet Belinda's mouth was moving, so obviously she was still singing. No one could see my master except me, and perhaps that Loki's intention all along. Loki spoke to me, and I could only hear his voice,

"I can stop her unsatisfactory warble," he told me, setting a hand above Belinda's head full of curls. "I can do whatever you want me to do with her, but these gifts that I give to you come with a price."

I deemed my answer to be curious, though my voice sounded hopeful,

"Could you kill her?"

Loki's reaction was to smile at me as if I had said something extremely pleasing to him.

"Yes," he said with a nod. "I could kill her."

I glanced at Belinda. As she sang, she turned her head to me, wearing that smug look on her face. Loki followed my gaze and stared at Belinda. Her eyes saw right through him. Loki's hand lowered to Belinda's neck, where his palm slowly wrapped around her throat.

"Don't kill her," I said quietly.

"All right, then I won't," said Loki, watching Belinda in revulsion. "What would my mistress desire from me if not the death of Belinda Conner?"

Why did he have to hurt her at all? This was his part of the bargain, though; he would get rid of the woman who was in the way of making me the leading lady in one of my favorite plays in exchange for my loyalty. The evident fact that something terrible that had to happen to Belinda was just something to make our bargain seem more…amusing. He was the God of Mischief—so to have no harm come to Belinda would lose the bargain's appeal.

This was just for good entertainment.

"Speak, Harper," said Loki with a note of impatience, "or I'll make your decision for you."

"Take her vocal chords," I said quickly.

Loki looked up for a moment, a bit surprised I imagined. He looked at me with a handsome smile, as if I had charmed him with a spell.

"Pardon?"

I nodded.

To reassure my bargain, I repeated loudly,

"Take her vocal chords."

I found my decision to be both imprudent and cruel. Belinda's entire life had been reared on stage; she possibly loved the Opera House as much as I did, but it was better than having her killed by a master who wanted me on top of the world than to have me buried under it. Loki's hand on Belinda's neck loosened.

I was mind-altering how it might have appeared to me that I had some power in this little transaction. Loki certainly had given me some choice in how Belinda would be terminated from the Opera House; but in the end, he was in control. Even I had said nothing; he would have carried out with his plan despite my silence. Loki would always get what he wanted, one way or another.

Loki smiled at me.

_You're a fast learner, Harper,_ his voice echoed in my mind—my stomach dropped as I realized that he had read my mind.

I couldn't hide anything from him.

Loki's hand on Belinda's neck tightened. Then it passed through Belinda's neck as if she was a hologram. The sounds of violin strings being plucked came by one, two, three—then the room filled with noise. Belinda's song in the middle of _Think of Me_ came with belted lyrics—

"_Recall those days _

_Think back on all those times,_

_Think of the things we'll never do._

_There will never be a day,_

_When I…_

_Won't…_

_Think…_

_Of…_

_Y—"_

Belinda's vocals rendered nothing as she coughed and sputtered. Loki stood behind Belinda as the young woman fell forward, holding her throat. Several others flew up onto the stage to help her identify an unknown catalyst. They all fell to their knees beside Belinda, who was lying on the ground crying incoherent sentences.

I stood, frozen. Loki's fingers clutched around two sizable cords. Blood dripped from him, drawn from Belinda's own throat. I was horrified. I had thought that it was going to be something magical, something like a vanishing—like what Loki's first appearance to me had been. Instead, it was a macabre horror story.

Belinda couldn't utter expressional cries. Even when her executive producers were trying to understand what was happening to her—even as Belinda gestured wildly at her throat, no one could understand her. There was no blood to show evidence that her vocal cords had been literally ripped out of her throat.

Loki looked at me.

He approached me, and I felt sudden fear in my chest and stomach. I stepped back.

"What were you expecting, pet?" he asked in a low voice.

I believed, then, that I had made him angry.

I glanced around me, wondering if someone could recognize that I was in distress; yet Lauren and Darren were bent forward beside Belinda who started to shriek and cry as the morbid realization came to her. Even if they could see me, they would think that I was petrified at the sight in front of me. I was the only one who could see Loki; and I was the only one who knew what had happened to Belinda.

Loki's empty hand took my arm and he pulled me off the stage. My absence was left unnoticed as he led me out of the Opera House. In his other hand, he still held Belinda's bloody cords. I was disgusted with not only what he had done, but that it had been my decision to have let it happen.

How was this not worse than death?

"I can still hear your thoughts, Harper," said Loki.

He opened a door and pushed me forward by the small of my back.

We were standing on the roof.

Loki threw down Belinda's slimy strings of skin at my feet.

"How could you do that?" I asked repulsively.

I looked away from the small bits of skin; my stomach turned nauseously.

"I am a God," answered Loki easily, "I can do whatever I want."

"_This isn't what I wanted…no…"_

"This is what you asked of me," Loki reminded me with a calm voice.

"I spoke out of anger, out of envy—"

"I carried out your wish because it was what _you_ wanted," said Loki adamantly, "and I did it. Only when you saw the truth and desperate terror of your demand did you have feelings of regret. You wanted me to do this, Harper; so I obliged as your God and your King."

"I only wanted her to stop singing," I pleaded. "I didn't want her to stop talking all together."

"Then that is what you should have said," said Loki quietly. His voice wasn't angry, nor was it sentimental. Upon seeing his expression, he was smirking.

I was breathing heavily, and my head was reeling. I didn't know whether to cry or to scream. My master was a sadist; and I could tell no one. Who would believe me? Loki watched me. No, he wasn't watching me. He observed me like a rat caught in a maze. He wanted to see what I would do.

I glanced down at the swollen organs on the roof top.

"Will she die?" I asked softly.

"I didn't hear you."

"_Will she die?"_ I demanded, staring at him.

"No," Loki assured me. "She will not die."

He stepped toward me.

"You cannot tell a soul, Harper, about what you've seen today." Loki told me.

"Why would I?"

"You may be the only one who can see me," he said darkly, "but everyone can see you."

He towered over me, and I met his hardened gaze.

"These little demands that you make," he said, "will get you into trouble if you so much as _think_ of telling your Midgardian friends about me. Until I make myself known—until _I_ decide when I should begin to rule your meager Realm—you are to tell no one that I exist."

I was frightened of him. He stared at me as if he could my very being. He was a walking lie detector. Oh, yes, I feared him. Yet this power—this undeniably powerful deity—perplexed me like nothing else. Regrettably, I wondered the limitations of his power. So, I asked the question that was demanding in my mind…

"And," I said with a pleasing threat in my voice, "If I do tell others about you, if I do go to the authorities, what will you do?"

Loki made a scoffing smirk.

He took my hands into his, covered my fingers—a sickening warmth covered my hands.

"They will believe that you are Belinda's bane," he said, "along with many others that will come."

His eyes hinted to my palms. His hands removed from mine.

I stared with petulant horror—I felt my face pale—as I saw dark blood trail from my fingers and pooled in my palms. In each of my hands, one of Belinda's two vocal cords slid down my fingers and rested in the small pool of blood.

I looked up at Loki.

"You would frame me for the acts that you have done?"

"No, you would be judged by your peers by the acts that _you_ have done," said Loki.

The cool air began to dry Belinda's blood on my hands. Loki circled me.

"I will protect you from the authorities; I will keep you hidden, and your crimes will go unpunished."

"I've done nothing wrong."

"True; yet it was you, Harper, who wanted me to take Belinda's cords in the first place."

"I didn't hurt or kill anyone."

"And," said Loki patiently—his mouth was at the shell of my ear—"it will remain that way if you kindly comply with me. I can make your servitude an easy road, pet; but…"

He sighed.

"That is…_ultimately_…your choice."

Our relationship had been beautiful for the first two interactions. Now it seemed as if my life hung by my willingness to play these morbid games. I glanced at the dried blood on my fingers. Loki stood in front of me.

"They still think that Belinda has merely lost her voice," informed Loki. His voice returned to a calm and pleasant register. It soothed the fear in my stomach. When I met his gaze, there was no threat or impatience in his eyes.

His hands collected my bloody fingers. When he removed them, my palms were clean and barren. Loki stepped forward and wrapped an arm around my waist. His other hand took my limp arm and he placed it over his shoulder. I obliged with my other arm. I was numb and I didn't know what to think. Loki looked at me as I was something from a dream, something special.

There was good in him. Yet deep down, there was a sadistic con artist that waited every day to tear apart the side of him that was inherently good. The God of Mischief stood by what he was. He was persuasive, charming, polite, and good-mannered; but deceit, intimidation, and ill-willed bargains were part of his trade as well.

_A wolf in a sheep's clothing…_

"I heard you singing under your breath," said Loki with considerate admiration. That sound of awe made me blush. "You should be especially happy that the Opera House will replace Belinda's scuttled warble with a voice like yours."

"And what does a voice like mine sound like if not like Belinda's?"

"Fishing for compliments makes it easy for a man to see that she in desperate need for attention," said Loki disapprovingly. He stepped away from me. "Don't try that. I know all of those tricks of trade, pet."

I bit my lip and felt my face flush with embarrassment.

Loki's hand outreached toward my jaw, where he traced a line from my chin to the shell of my ear. I felt the reoccurrence sense of arousal between my legs. The smallest touch of his hand or—

He pulled in close and pressed his mouth against mine into a surprising, passionate kiss.

I was startled, but when he didn't release me, I sank into it as if I was heavily sedated. Loki's arms around my waist shifted, and his hands gripped my hips through the soft cotton of my black slacks. I was caught by a delightful surprise, and I didn't mind so much.

I palmed his shoulders, the only thing that I could find in the heat of his kiss. The sensation of leather and metal of his armor was particularly interesting, and I wondered if all Asgardians dressed this way. The thickness of his armor plates made it palpable for me to grip as hard as I could without fear of hurting him—unless he liked that kink and I had no idea…yet.

His tongue was fierce, and it was if he had always known exactly how I liked to be kissed. He took what he wanted from me, and—though I had no choice otherwise—I diligently complied. I heard myself moan into the kiss; his lips contoured into a self-evident smirk, though he still kissed me passionately.

A kiss on a rooftop.

It would have been romantic if beforehand I hadn't been staring at the remnants of Belinda's wind pipe…

Loki pulled away from me, panting slightly.

He made a look that was enticing to me; his chin and jaw motioned as if he was irritated and it frightened and aroused me at the same time. I licked my lips. This time, he didn't taste like mint and ice. It was something more exotic, like passion fruit with something stronger than tea—something red like wine.

Loki smiled.

He stepped toward the edge of the roof.

"You'd best return to the stage, little dove," he said, staring down at the street.

I approached the ledge to see that an ambulance had arrived, and Belinda's beating body—writing from pain and mental anguish—was restrained on a gurney.

"They'll be looking for you," said Loki, still watching.

I didn't stay much longer, especially when I saw Loki smiling.

I retreated to the door and left my master standing on the rooftop to admire his good work.


	4. Why Have You Brought Me Here?

Angel of Music

Chapter Four: Why Have You Brought Me Here?

The information from the executive producers that had given our Carlotta the spot light returned with the report that Belinda would absolutely recover from her injury, but she wouldn't be able to sing again. When Darren asked what had caused Belinda to lose her voice, the other producers said that even the doctors had no idea how Belinda could sing when she had nothing to sing with; they were astounded, but they wondered if Belinda had ruptured her voice box because she took the notes too high. It was a medical marvel, or so they said.

The rehearsal was cancelled, and the executive producers informed the understudies and the other actors that they could go home early in order to recover from today's stress. While I was about to leave, Darren stuck a hand out in front of me to stop me from stepping off the stage. He mimed for his co-workers to leave and that he'd be out shortly. He didn't speak, and neither did me, until the entire cathedral emptied and we were left alone.

He lowered his arm when he knew that I wasn't going anywhere.

"Why have you brought me here?" I asked curiously, indicating the exited crowd.

"Harper," he breathed with certain restraint, "what happened today?"

"I feel bad for Belinda," I said.

He looked at me.

I said nothing more, but it seemed that I hadn't convinced him at all. It was just as well. My voice was stoic; there wasn't a bit of remorse in my tone. Evidently, I didn't hold a lot of it in my expression either. Darren gazed at me as if I had committed a crime, though it had to be clear as day that there was no way that I had done anything.

"Harper, if you have done something, would you come to me about it?" Darren asked softly, timidly. "Harper, _did_ you do something? Did you touch Belinda's throat spray…? Did you make any of the snacks while we weren't looking?"

I understood his suspicion, however—

"I didn't do anything to that woman, Darren," I said truthfully.

"So it's mere coincidence?"

"That's all it is."

"Harper…"

"This time, I'm not lying," I assured him.

"You sound as guilty as any criminal, my dear; I suggest that you come forward if you had any involvement in what happened to our leading lady."

"She's not your leading lady anymore; _I_ am," I said, annoyed. "What, Darren? Do you want me to feel sorry for her? Do you want me to cry because she can't sing here anymore? Is that what you want me to do?"

"There is no reason to be vindictive. I told you that I would help you—"

"You've done nothing for me since you put Belinda on the stage before me," I said irritably. "You talk, and that's all you do. You didn't do _anything_. Belinda was nasty and spiteful; and everyone looked at her as if she _was_ the Angel of Music."

I stepped away from him.

"It's a good thing that she didn't die on stage; at least she has that to be thankful for," I said coldly.

"Harper, at least show _some_ sentiment."

"Why, to show guilt? No, I don't have to show that. I don't have to feel guilty either." I muttered angrily. "You have been no use to me than those man whores who walked this stage like they have approved of everyone who works here. Sure, you didn't sleep with Belinda; but the way you treat her and the way you have treated me suggest otherwise."

I pulled my purse back up my shoulder.

"Now, if you excuse me, I'm going home to where I'm appreciated."

"Harper, just listen to me for a moment."

He grabbed my arm.

I turned to look at him.

"What do you want?"

He looked at with severe intent. I glanced at his hand that gripped my elbow. He followed my gaze then released me apologetically. Darren looked down at his feet for a minute. He locked his fingers together thoughtfully.

"I believe you…" he said.

"Say it again," I said coldly.

"I said that I believe you," he repeated for me.

I crossed my arms.

"Why the sudden change in opinion?"

"You couldn't possibly have done anything," Darren explained tenderly. "I had my eyes on you the whole time. Even when Belinda was choking…or whatever she was doing…You were"—his hand indicated the curtains—"right there the entire time. You were scared, but you were there."

Darren's exchange from severe suspicion and accusatory glare to remorse and acceptance astounded me. I was taken aback by it, though pleased. I nodded to affirm his statement,

"Of course, I was there."

"Yes. Harper, Belinda won't be able to sing again. The doctors said that—"

"Her vocal cords were ruptured, I heard."

"We need you to take her place."

"I figured as much."

"I'm afraid, though, that we don't have a lot of time for rehearsal."

"I don't need to rehearse."

Darren smiled in relief.

"Oh, good. Good. Then you should come in a few hours early so that we can…get the stage prepared and put you in costume. Belinda was a tall glass of water; we'll have to resize her costume to fit you."

"I'll be here."

I turned to leave, but—

"Harper."

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry that I doubted you."

"It's fine."

"No, not right now. I mean before."

I looked at him.

"You should have been Christine from the very beginning," said Darren sincerely. His voice implicated for me to say something just as sentimental, something sweet and reassuring that _Oh, of course, I understand and forgive you._ I felt no interest in making him feel better. So I cleared my throat and said,

"I know."

He looked at me with fevered surprise; but I turned on my heel and left him on the stage then out of sight.


	5. I Know He's Here

Angel of Music

Chapter Five: I Know He's Here

When I entered my house, every room was dark.

I automatically felt the presence that, for the last 48 hours, had haunted my footsteps—

"_Oh, Harper…"_

When I closed the door behind, I froze when I heard Loki's voice sing-song my name in the damask dark. He echoed through my living room. My keys jingled once in the drafted silence. I searched the room in vain only to find still silhouettes of my decorated interior. There was no man standing against the wall or on the floor. Nor was there any looming figure seated on the leather cushion of the armchair or lying on the couch.

"Master…" I called out, hoping that he would make himself known.

"_You'll have to learn how to lie if you don't want to be named a suspect in the future."_

"Are you in my head or in my house, I wonder," I said aloud.

I turned to my front door and locked myself in; I slid the chain for proper measure.

When he didn't answer me, I stepped further into my dark room.

"I lied to Darren; he didn't suspect me."

"_Pet, don't you think that it was a little abrupt how he went from accusing you to vaguely accepting your indifference to our little lost toad?"_

I nodded.

"So it was you," I muttered, disappointed.

The lights in the living room flicked on, and Loki materialized in the once unoccupied leather armchair. The glimmer from the lantern on the end table reflected the gold from his armor. He sat comfortably in the armchair as if he had been sitting there since I left the stage. Loki's head was supported by his hand, his elbow resting on the arm.

"If I hadn't intervened," said Loki with shrewd criticism, "you'd have been brought to your local precinct for interrogation; where, to my knowledge, you'd have caved from guilt."

I placed my purse and keys on the mantled coat rack beside the door.

"Maybe not," I said with a shrug.

"Don't lie to me. You _cannot_ lie to _me_."

The stern finality in his voice made me stop moving for a swift second as I glanced at him uncertainly.

"All right," I admitted unhappily, "I do feel guilty about Belinda."

"You handled the situation very well as I recall. You could have killed your predecessor; instead you spared her life, but left her wallowing in her misery. I don't know whether to congratulate you for your mercy or shake your hand for your cruelty."

I winced.

"I didn't intend to be cruel, Sir."

"I'm not belittling you in the slightest. It was your decision after all. Who am I to judge?" he said as an afterthought.

I stared at him, solidified between wanting to tell him that _technically_ he had forced me to choose and the thought of repressing said accusation. Exhausted and healing from the event that had happened on stage, I didn't want to antagonize my situation any further. I stayed quiet.

"Good move," said Loki as he rose to his feet.

I bit the inside of my lower lip with swift agitation. He read my mind again.

"Tonight," I began lightly, "will be my debut as Christine."

"I know," said Loki passively.

"Will you be there?" I asked curiously.

He glanced at me with a small smile and turned his back to me. He procured a bottle of wine and two glasses. He was acting in as a gentleman; and as pleasing as that was to me, I felt that something ominous was about to happen. I wondered, as a split after-thought, if now was the time that I was indulging my part of our twisted bargain—the price that I had to pay. While I anticipated that side of the bargain with anxiety and fear, for I didn't know the exact implications; I was stimulated by curiosity.

I knew that my part of the bargain was going to be sexually explicit, or at least that's what I had always assumed since our first 'night' together. If he had initiated me to call him my master and I was his '_Midgardian'_ mistress, I could only assume the nature of our frivolities would be primal and carnal.

"You certainly think a lot," said Loki as he turned to face me with poured glasses.

I closed my eyes in scorn.

_Damn it, I forgot he could read my mind._

"How am I supposed to have privacy if you're always in here?" I asked him, prodding my left temple with my index finger.

"Darling"—my stomach jumped when he called me such a deep term of endearment—"you will discover that there is nothing in your mind that you can keep private."

He beckoned me to him with a glass in his hand.

He added, "At least not from me."

I met him in the middle of the room in front of the dead fireplace. As I came within a foot of him, he offered me a half-filled glass of red wine. I hesitated.

"What, afraid that I've laced it with poison?" he asked derisively. "Why would I go through this trouble only to kill you? No, Harper."

Loki prodded the empty air with my glass, an impatient but silent motion for me to take it. I held the glass in my fingers.

"If I was going to kill you, I would tell you."

"Or perhaps you would tell me that you would tell me if you were going to kill me just so that I would drink this, blissfully unaware of your intentions, My Lord." I resigned.

He smiled as I made this small discovery, though I felt like he had intended for me to work that little bit out for myself. If I had never ever felt like an incompetent harlot, I did now. A bit of drink, a laid back night, a quid-pro-quo, and into the sack I would go like a common slut who exchanged a bit of the lime light for sexual favors: or at least, that's how I saw the beginning of our friendship.

"You think that our relationship is carnal, don't you?" asked Loki knowingly.

"What would give me any other indication, Sir?" I remarked.

Loki made a motion with his glass; I took the hint and sipped from mine. After the wine touched my lips, he followed my action and sipped from his. Red wine, yet there was something else in it. I licked my lips, finding drops of warm liquor that still lingered in the corners of my mouth. Loki gave me an appreciative smile. I looked at him.

"This isn't anything like I have ever tasted," I told him serenely.

For the moment, I was distracted.

"It shouldn't be," said Loki fondly. "It's from my home."

"Asgard?" I recalled.

"Yes," Loki confirmed. He had a brief smile on his face then it vanished as quickly as it had come. "What do you taste, dove?" He inclined his chin to my wine glass.

I took another drink, but enticed my mouth for more than just a few drops. It was smooth and thicker than the fluidity of any other alcohol that I had ever imbibed. It was rich, like drinking thick candy.

Loki placed three fingers at the bottom of my glass and tipped it away from my lips; he stopped the flow of the wine.

"Easy," he said with slight amusement.

I lowered the glass.

"It's not a common keg, Harper. It's supposed to be savored."

"I imagine other Asgardians chug this by the barrel, though," I noted.

"Yes, but you're mortal. It has different affects to humans," added Loki. "Now tell me, what do you taste?"

"Walnuts, almonds, peaches, strawberries…" I listed easily. "Something different, though…" I looked at him curiously. "Is there any meat in this?"

"What sort, do you think?"

I tasted it on my lips.

"Venison?"

"Good girl," said Loki, though I wasn't certain if he was impressed or if he merely congratulated me because I wasn't an idiot. "You know your wine very well, I gather."

"I used to be an alcoholic, I should know," I said.

"Oh," said Loki; he stopped for a moment. He shrugged, "Well, then I know why you couldn't stop at the second sip…"

He collected my glass from my hand and placed his and mine on the end table beside the leather armchair.

"Is this wine-tasting activity," I asked out of curiosity, "relevant to what you'll have me do as payment for earlier this afternoon?"

Loki made a small laugh.

"That's presumptuous, don't you think?"

"Well, now I'm just guessing." I said truthfully.

"You'll keep guessing," said Loki. He tapped my chin. "It will benefit us both if you pick up your end of the bargain in full after you perform."

"So making me drink wasn't part of it?" I asked vaguely.

"No," answered Loki. "You're intoxicated right now, Harper. I need you fully coherent for what we will do tonight," he added in a low whisper.

He kissed me briefly on the cheek.

"For now, you need your rest. You have to be back at the Opera House in a few hours; and I don't want my work to go to waste."

Loki took the bottle of wine from the end table and placed it in my hands.

"Keep this," he said.

"I'm a _rehabilitated _alcoholic," I recalled strongly.

"You _were_," he said without meeting my eyes. "You'll start your drinking; and you _will_ stop when I tell you to stop. I think, in the past few hours, I have made that perfectly clear."

He side-stepped me and headed for the door.

"Sir," I said quickly—he stopped and turned to look at me. I swayed on the spot. "You didn't answer me."

He said nothing but merely gazed at me.

"Will you be at the opera house when I sing tonight?"

He smirked and strode back to me. I felt my knees shake as he wrapped an arm around my waist; his unoccupied hand held the side of my neck with an equal firm grip. He didn't intend to frighten me, merely to hold me in place. I smiled vaguely, easily aroused by the closeness. He held an heir of a man who couldn't be sexually sated, and that alone made me flush in excitement.

Loki placed a kiss upon my lips.

Then he set his mouth along my earlobe. From his lips, I didn't hear his voice.

I was confused as I heard my own, singing Christine's lines,

"_I used to dream, he'd appear._

_Now as I sing I can sense him,_

_And I know he's here._

_Here in this room, _

_He calls me softly._

_Somewhere inside, hiding._

_Somehow I know he's always with me…_

_He, the unseen genius…"_

He pulled back mere inches, I stared at him with wide eyes.

Loki apparently was satisfied with his answer—or my answer—his answer?

He made a clicking noise with his tongue and then before my eyes, he vanished into thin air.

I was standing in the middle of my living room, confused, surprised, and completely aroused.


	6. Brava, Brava, Bravissima

Angel of Music

Chapter Six: Brava, Brava, Bravissima

When I returned to the stage, the theater had been transformed into an astounding, shining array of flooding lights, cameras, candles, hung ribbons, posted flowers, and white and gold icicles that hung from every balcony. It was the most decorated that I had ever seen the Lawless Opera House. Those who had already arrived were dressed in costume and make-up.

Lauren, Meg's understudy, approached me from the left side door of the stage. She wore a ballet's tutu and carnation pink tap shoes. In Loki's phrase, her _predecessor_ had come to no harm; so Lauren remained cast as one of the chorus girls who side-stepped as a dancer. Although Belinda's unfortunate delay came, Lauren didn't look at all remorseful as she had appeared when Belinda had fallen onto her knees. Instead, Lauren beamed at me with gratitude and happiness that I hadn't seen on her face since I had performed as Fantine in _Les Miserablés _in our Lawless Opera House.

I was still shocked by the transformation of our desolated theater into what was all glamor—the world's full-tilt diva would be impressed if she stepped foot inside the cathedral. It was no _Opera Populaire_ like in _The Phantom of the Opera,_ but it could fool the most ignorant sod.

Lauren eagerly took my hand.

"Oh, it's just like you always wanted!"

_Oh, yes…_

"I'm just a little…"

"I bet you're so pleased!"

I stared at Lauren. I know that I should have been grateful to have some attention thrown my way, but this wasn't the first time that she had expressed sole excitement in front of me. She was a sycophant who sided with the winner; before, she would have sent flowers to Belinda. Now that I was in the limelight, Lauren took up the pedestal at my right hand side and attempted to skin her way to my favorites list.

In an opera house that had argued with me from the very beginning—I already knew that most of them thought that I was an arrogant cuss—I didn't easily fall for Lauren's scheme.

However, to remain tactful, I smiled at Lauren.

She seemed appeased enough as she gripped my hand in both hers and led me through the back of the stage where I was met by a chorus of congratulations from fellow understudies and the executive producers who had staged Belinda in front of me. Among them, I acknowledged Darren, who swept by all the others and embraced me cheerfully like a grandfather would to an estranged granddaughter.

He leaned in with his mouth close to my ear where no other could hear what he said to me.

"I convinced them all that you're innocent. Nobody believes that you had any fault with Belinda."

I nodded to confirm that I had heard correctly. He withdrew from me as quickly as he spoken to make certain that he had only told me a sincere congratulatory whisper. I didn't name the executive producers to you. It isn't because their names have escaped me. It's because I didn't think that they were important enough. However, you should know who they are.

The first who slept with Belinda and to put her talent before mine was named Alexander Right. His morbidl obesity and thick-rimmed glasses were his convicted attributes; if there was anything attractive about that man, it was the fact that he _did _wear glasses, and that he at least could walk for six minutes without tiring.

The second producer—the one who guided Belinda and Lauren from stage while Darren held me back—was Victor Blaise. He was an unsuccessful attempt at tall elegance. He possibly had been attractive and suave during childhood, but those charismatic features—sharp eyes, high cheekbones, blemished-free skin, and prominent chin—all rendered him to look relatively gaunt. Several wrinkles plagued his face. In his youth, he apparently didn't laugh or smile. The laugh lines that Darren and Mr. Right had along their noses and mouths were forlorn on Mr. Blaise's face.

Then Darren How. I named him already; but he was still important to mention as he _didn't_ sleep with Belinda "La Carlotta" Conner. He had won my respect when I learned that; and although he didn't furnish my celebrity status (though tarnishing my reputation in the opera house), I felt incredibly entitled to a place in the spotlight. He had whispered to me that there was no suspicion among my fellow cast mates; so with that, I smiled at Darren.

Mr. Right and Mr. Blaise approached me with extended hands. While they offered handshakes of congratulations, I had the sense that it was a chance for appeasement—much like Lauren had displayed only a moment ago.

I shook both of their hands, to which they reacted with large grins that they had only given to Belinda upon hearing her belt out lyrics at the top of her lungs.

"Oh, we should have cast you as Christine," said Mr. Right.

"Oh, yes, we were wrong!" agreed Mr. Blaise.

"Oh, why didn't we think of that before? We should have done this a long time ago!" They chimed something along the lines of this.

So I replied shamelessly,

"Perhaps you couldn't tell Belinda 'No'."

I turned to Darren while I took advantage of the producers' stunned silence.

"I need to get dressed." I glanced at Misters Right and Blaise and smiled. "Thank you, though, for congrats."

I glanced at Lauren and leaned in to whisper,

"The next time that you want to appease me, why don't you do it where everyone else can hear you?"

Lauren made a disgusted sound, but I walked away before she could say much of anything else.

Darren led me to my new dressing room. He closed the door as I sat down in the make-up chair.

"You shouldn't really disrespect Victor and Alex," warned Darren carefully. "They, too, are in charge of who keeps their job and who gets canned."

I strung my brunette hair from my ponytail and turned to look at him.

"They need me now. What have I to fear?"

"And since when have you become so demanding, Ms. Solstrom?" asked Darren.

"Oh, Ms. _Solstrom."_

Through the mirror, he met my eyes. He looked suddenly disappointed. In contrast, I definitely looked as egocentric as Belinda had when she was singing hours ago.

"Since when do you call me by my last name?" I muttered, folding my arms.

"You've got the chair, you've got the light; the cast is appealing to your satisfaction." Darren listed the benefits of tonight on his hand and then tossed an arm behind him to indicate the entire opera house. "_This is your night, _Harper. You're acting like—"

"I have a right to act this way; it was taken from me when Right and Blaise took that warbling whore and put her on the stage before they heard me sing."

"They heard you sing. We all did. You were Fantine and—"

"Yes, I was _Fantine,_ and I did it _perfectly!_" I said angrily. "I did that part better than any of your understudies _and_ your lead vocalist. I scraped those newbies and did what Belinda couldn't do. I sang _I Dreamed a Dream_ and the _entire_ theater applauded!"

"You can't always have the spotlight, Harper…" Darren sighed in exhaustion. "Everyone is entitled to some fame."

"Not everyone is _me_," I remarked.

Darren looked at me.

"What has happened to you, Harper?"

"Nothing has happened," I retorted.

"You _have_ changed in the last few days."

"I said nothing has happened!"

Darren approached me from behind my chair. His hand fell upon my shoulder as if to comfort me.

"Have you run into some bad people?"

"No."

"Would you tell me?"

I hesitated.

Then I peered up into the mirror…

My stomach dropped.

Behind Darren How reflected the brilliant emerald green of Loki's penetrating gaze. Loki's reflection stood behind Darren, though he did nothing. Loki's arms were at his sides; that's all he was doing was just staring at me. Yet I felt as if a rug had been pulled from underneath me.

Not a word…

I glanced at Darren's brown-eyed concern through the mirror.

"Of course," I said, disheveled, "I would tell you."

"Then you haven't met anyone bad?"

"No…" I said calmly. "I haven't."

Darren glanced behind him slowly. I stared at the reflection of Loki as Darren turned fully around. There was no one behind us. I already knew that. After all, I was the only one that Loki wanted to see him…at least for now. While Darren was occupied, I passed a nervous hand along the sides of my face where anxious sweat had begun to gather. Loki's presence—whether make-believe or if he was really in the room with me—frightened yet aroused me. Either response would have Darren aware that something in the room was causing me stress.

Loki raised a finger to his lips, a silent demand to keep me quiet.

"Hmm…" Darren mused over my reactions of late, yet he didn't press on.

He believed me.

"We should get you ready, Harper. It'll be wonderful, believe me."

"I trust you," I said out loud, though I wasn't sure if I had said it to Darren or to Loki.

Either way, Darren patted me cheerfully on the shoulder. Loki smiled in the mirror.

With a blink of my eye, he vanished. I sighed in relief.

When I was fitted into a white laced dress and star-shaped berets were placed in their appropriate locations in the dark and pinned curls of my hair, the make-up artists beamed at me with pride.

"This looks better on you than it ever did on Belinda…" one of the girls mused.

Darren came to see me along with Mr. Right and Mr. Blaise. All three beamed at me.

"You look so beautiful."

"Oh, she does, Mr. Right; she does."

Darren graced me with a swift kiss to the top of my hand and said with a smile,

"You do."

There was a sound of applause from the audience that erupted in front of the curtains.

"Looks like this is it," Darren said happily. "Break a leg."

* * *

From the beginning of the opera, it was as if I was in a dizzy light the entire time. I felt as if I was drunk; however, I was confident that I beamed with every note that I sang. It was if I was in a dream, and for once in my life, it didn't end with disappointment or anger. While I was in song, I had gazed about the audience while acting. It was partial stage-acting; the other half of me searched for Loki. I didn't see him through the first and second act.

In the hot light, I started to sweat; so the make-up artists had to redo my eye-liner and face powder. They did this three times. I was hot, yes; but I was in an intense fever. I wondered through the entire opera whether Loki could see his handiwork. This was only possible _because_ he had taken out Belinda's vocal cords. Although he informed me that this was my doing; it couldn't have been carried out _this_ well if he had stayed back this entire time.

So my last song, _Think of Me_, began to play; and I stood alone on the stage. The light glimmered off the stars in my hair and the faintest use of glitter on my dress. After being blinded by the stage lights, it was hard to make out anybody's face in front of me. When my note began to play, I opened my mouth, and I began to sing:

"_Think of me,_

_Think of me fondly_

_When we said goodbye._

_Remember once in a while,_

_Please promise me_

_You'll try."_

I glanced to my left and searched the rows that I could find. Unimportant faces and marveled stares watched me; but no one fit the description of the green eyes that I had seen peering back at me through my reflection.

"_When you find_

_That once again you long_

_To take your heart back and be free;_

_If you ever find a moment_

_Spare a thought for me…"_

To the middle, especially down into the pit, I saw only the occupied stares of the violinists, cellists, trombonists, and the flutists; they flipped the pages of their handbooks passively.

"_We never said our love was evergreen_

_Or as unchanging as the sea;_

_But if you can still remember,_

_Stop and think of me._

"_Think of all the things we've shared and seen;_

_Don't think about the way things might have been._

_Think of me, _

_Think of me waking silent and resigned._

_Imagine me, trying so hard to put you from my mind."_

I turned to my left; and I was given the same result as the first two times. I began to lose hope.

"_Recall those days; look back on those times…_

_Think of the things we'll never do…"_

But then—

"_There will never be a day_

_When I won't think of you!"_

I looked up to the balcony positioned in front of me; I saw Loki standing in the middle of the precipice. He was leaned over on the railing with his hands folded together in mid-evening gloves. He wasn't dressed in his Asgardian leather and metal. He wore the three-piece business suit that I had seen him wear previously. His eyes met mine.

I was grateful for the music interlude. I was almost breathless.

When I hit the key note—one that Belinda had failed to pitch in the rehearsals—the entire audience applauded. I didn't find any delight in that until Loki straightened and started to clap his hands. He didn't applaud as feverishly as the crowd—but that didn't sincerely bother me. I felt my entire face grin from ear to ear as I absorbed the attention in the entire opera house.

Before me was a standing ovation.

Behind me, I heard applause as well; Darren and the other two producers were clapping. Lauren was jumping up and down with hot delight. I turned to face the audience again. They lowered to their chairs.

"_Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade;_

_They have their seasons, so do we._

_But please promise me that sometimes,_

_You…_

_Will…_

_Think…"_

I felt my heart stop as I vocalized my next syllable; mostly because if I didn't perform as well as next to perfect, all of what had happened previously would have been all in vain. However, I believed that I carried it out to a "T"—

"_Of_ me!"

I was met with a roar of applause and showered with rose petals.


	7. A Brave Young Suitor

Angel of Music

Chapter Seven: A Brave Young Suitor

_The Phantom of the Opera_ was stretched across a week in order to accommodate the extensive dialogue and incorporated details that were provided by Andrew Lloyd Webber. It would be too hard on the actors to show the entire play in a single night; so after three acts, the opera house would dismiss and then continue where the act left off from the previous night. Tomorrow, when I would return, it would be continue from when Raul—the handsome viscount—and Christine would reunite after once being childhood sweethearts.

My co-star, he who had been acting in as Raul since day one, was a decent-looking man. He and I were the same age, 21. Although he had the tell-tale signs of attractiveness and a true definition to the description of a prince charming, I was never keen on his affections toward me. Joseph "Joey" Monarch was one of the most favorited people on set; and while he may have charmed the hearts of the men and women around him (including the most doughy of all of them, young Lauren's), his charm wasn't exactly what I liked in my selection. In fact, if anything, he appeared to be arrogant about his looks. Joseph's looks didn't affect me as much as his talent did. Although he played the gleeful pep boy among the staff, he was actually a very talented actor; and I believed that it was an honor to work beside him.

I only mentioned him because it was after the reception that he approached me at the buffet bar and handed me a small drink in a wine glass; he tapped my shoulder while he stood on the other side of me, a playful ruse.

"Evening, pet," Joseph greeted me flirtatiously.

I turned to him.

Joseph hadn't changed out of his costume, but he did take off the wig and make-up. He was no spitting image of Raul, but he made a very convincing wealthy patron. I merely smiled. My attraction to him was only on stage—both acting as Christine and in reality. The moment that he stepped out from the spot light, he was only a haughty, pampered prat who held a candle and a rose to his name. Girls would jump into bed with him once he gave them the eye; for me, obviously, there needed to be some kind of dominance. That and I liked them older.

I glanced at the glass in his hand, which he still offered to me.

"You know that I don't drink." I reminded him kindly.

"It's a celebration."

"My celebration doesn't begin until I shut my living room door," I said slyly.

I would hold up my end of the bargain when I returned home where I knew Loki was either waiting for me, or he was in the room with me watching my interaction with Joseph. Joseph made a critical noise.

"You're such a shut-in, Harper."

"You're so perceptive" I muttered sarcastically.

Joseph's high voice didn't affect me. Rather, I found it annoying. It was a contrast from Loki's pleasant baritone. I knew that my new master had ignited me in many more ways than just handing me the role of Christine; he had heightened my expectations and my standards of other men. So when Joseph strode around to my other side to give me "the smolder", I laughed.

I might have been attracted to Joseph Monarch before I had met Loki; but any desire that I had once felt for Joseph—if any—dissipated. Even within reason, if my master wasn't part of the equation, Joseph's newfound interest me was as transparent as that smile on his face. Joseph was a pig, a slut, and his personality was a façade. He was the co-worker that would wine, dine, and make passionate love to a girl; then when she wanted sincerity and compassion, he would toss her out of his room like a used rag.

No. I was not attracted to Joseph Monarch _at all._

"You've been in this city," Joseph sighed, "for what, four years? I could show you around." He scooted in front of me to block me from the buffet table, upon which he rested his hands so that he was directly standing in front of me. "You and I…"

"You've barely noticed me since I last performed on stage." I remarked. I gently pushed his shoulder and removed him from my place at the table. He didn't fight, but he stayed relatively close.

"Sweetie, I've _always _known that you were there."

"Acknowledging my presence and knowing that I exist are different concepts, Joseph," I said with a brush of frustration.

"Well, now you're something special."

I scoffed. _Pathetic._

"Do you even _hear_ yourself right now?" I took the glass from his hand and placed it on the table. "If you want to turn a trick, how about you talk to Lauren? She's fond of you."

"I don't want her," said Joseph bravely.

He put a hand out to stop me from walking away.

"I want you," he remarked.

"I hate to disappoint you; I really do, but sleeping with a total stranger wasn't on my to-do list," I excused myself by removing his hand.

He reached out and grabbed my arm. Joseph pulled me back.

"So you've got someone already?" he asked calmly; however, I could feel the grip of his fingers tighten into my elbow enviously. "Harper, I don't like rejection. This, we both share."

"My personality entails indulgence, Joseph. I'm curious and adventurous. However," I pried his fingers from my arm and tossed his hand away from me, "I'm not a slut; so no, we _don't_ share rejection."

"Darling—"

I pushed him away. Joseph's dark eyes widened in shock. He opened his mouth to say something offensive; however—

"Joey, you were wonderful!"

From Joseph's right, Lauren bounced into the conversation slunk to him like a leech. Upon coming within a foot of Joseph, Lauren wrapped her arms tightly around Joseph's arm and clung to him cheerfully. Joey glanced at her, properly restrained, though he looked at me as if I had called Lauren over to intervene. Lauren, although I assumed that she was a daft bimbo from the beginning, clearly felt the tension between Joseph and me. Her innocent eyes shifted between us.

"Joey, honey, what's going on?"

"Nothing, dear. Nothing."

"_Dear?"_

I heard the word slip out of my mouth without restraint. _Oh._ I glanced between Joseph and Lauren in realization. Lauren looked at Joseph uncertainly.

"Sweetie, did you congratulate Harper for doing a job well done? Didn't I tell you that she could sing? Didn't I?"

Joseph peered at me with raucous self-righteousness. If this wasn't resolved right now, it would be messy when all of us would have to return tomorrow to continue the play. Lauren's face contorted to worry.

"_Yes,_" Joey uttered through clenched teeth. "Yes, Lauren, I did tell her. Now go home."

"But, sweetie, the party just started; and I wanted to go talk to Brittany, and—"

"_Go home, _I said!" Joey snapped at her.

He must have realized how coarse he had sounded, for he turned to Lauren and smiled with blatant agitation on his face—her ignorant eyes wrinkled into relief as she saw his expression change from irritation to cheerfulness. That was the most fake smile that I had ever seen on an actor's face. However, he fooled his audience.

"Go on, home, sweetie; I'll be along shortly. I have dinner reservations at Quincy's."

"Oh, Quincy's!" She turned to me and said, "It's so hard to get a reservation there. Two weeks in advance, you know."

"Oh, I've heard…" I looked at Joseph.

His teeth were bared.

Lauren gave him a kiss on the cheek and left his side with a bounce in her step.

Joseph's eyes watched her retreating back then turned to me.

I shook my head in disgust.

"'_I don't want her; I want you'._" I took the glass on the table. "I'll see you tomorrow night, Joseph."

"She means nothing to me."

"That doesn't make it any better." I shoved the glass into his opened hands, "_Pet."_


	8. Our Bodies Entwining

Angel of Music

Chapter Eight: What Endless Longing Echoes In This Whisper

I didn't stay for the reception. After the spat with Joseph, I had returned to my dressing room and dressed out of Christine's white gown. It was a relief to get out of a tight corset and step into polite dress slacks and a comfortable sweater. After I dressed, I had informed Darren and his co-workers that I was delighted to stay, but I had an appointment to attend.

I went straight home.

I wriggled the lock with my key, opened the door, and locked it behind me. In the dark, I surveyed my living room when I recalled the last time that I had entered my house at night. There wasn't any voice or body that was in the room. I knew better than to think that no one was in the house with me. So far, I learned that Loki could throw his voice in one room or several or in my head in general. He could be seated right in front of me, and I wouldn't know unless he wanted me to see him. I leaned against the front door, steady and exhausted from the show.

"Master?" I called out to the darkness.

He didn't answer me.

I turned my back to the room in order to switch the dead lock. It was a small _click._ I waited. No? Nothing still? All right. I took the chain on the door and inserted it; it hooked in place. Door heavily locked. Great. I turned—

"_Oh dear god!"_

My back fell against the door with a _thud_ and I sunk to my knees, startled. My heart raced. I could feel it pounding against my chest as if it was about to burst; my breathing skipped a few laps and I was panting as if I ran for miles.

There was a tiny _flick_ and light flooded the living room.

I looked up to see Loki standing over me.

He was laughing.

"_Why did you do that to me?"_ I uttered breathlessly.

Loki stepped back, still laughing, and gestured for me to follow him. My knees wobbled, shell-shocked, as I clung to my nightstand in order to steady myself without falling. It took me a few seconds to regain composure—my chest had seized and my stomach had churned so quickly that I thought my intestines had fallen out of my rectum.

Loki had the same appearance as he did in the opera house: the sleek, black jacket and trousers; a yellow-and-green striped scarf; black tie; white collared shirt; and black flats. His raven-black hair was slicked back upon his defined shoulders. He was something out a fairy tale, a prince. Loki's smile was enough to pull me into his clutches. It unnerved me how a man like my new master could entice me without even trying. Even in my teenage years, I didn't fall for the prodigious jock or the valedictorian—I had no reason to like any boy that graced me with their presence.

Loki, however, was like—

_Sex on legs…_

That seemed to fit his persona accurately.

Loki looked at me with a smirk.

He pointed to his head.

_God dammit, anyway…_

Oh, right, he could read my thoughts.

He approached the three-person lounger couch and seated himself on the left cushion. He turned to me and beckoned me with two fingers to come forward. When I was about to sit beside him, he stopped me with a hand on my wrist.

"No, pet. Here," he indicated his lap.

He released my wrist only to set two hands upon my waist, facing him. I hesitated, but only for a few seconds. If my payment was delayed gratification, I wasn't sure if I could hold up to my end of the bargain—but it would be fun all the same. Loki's fingers upon my hips firmly persuaded me to obey him; so willingly, I obliged.

In order to accommodate the seating arrangement, I straddled him. The moment that I sat down, I felt a swift fire light between my legs. I bit down on my lower lip to contain any reaction that would suggest that I was aroused by any part of this; but the reaction alone was self-evident. Loki looked up at me with the melting smile on his face.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked curiously.

"For now…" I said.

"Mm-hm." Loki wrapped his arms around my waist. "What is your relationship with Joseph, Harper?"

I wasn't surprised that he asked me about him; it was the moment that I questioned. Why now? Why now when we were going to—? Well, something sexual was going to happen, and I didn't want to think about Joseph while it was happening.

"You won't," Loki remarked, reading my thoughts.

"He isn't important to me," I answered quickly.

"No?" Loki smirked, unconvinced. "So if I was to put him into our little game, you would have no feelings of guilt? That's what you wanted of Belinda; now how would you know your true feelings without putting them to the test?"

"He isn't important to me _romantically,_" I corrected myself.

"Hm, you're starting to understand the rules."

Loki's arms unraveled from around my body; he rested his long, slender fingers along the bent curve of my knees. I glanced at his hands in curiosity and anticipation.

"Mm-hm, no peeking."

"What if I want to watch?" I asked.

He gave me a look of amusement.

"Oh, pet, you really don't know how this game works, do you?"

One of Loki's hands left my leg and hooked along the side of my neck then—

I gasped as he pulled my head forward; his lips were inches from the curve of my ear. My eyes stared into the white material of my couch. Loki's hand along my neck ascended and his fingers tangled into my hair tightly. I made a small cry, though I wasn't sure if it was because he had frightened me or if it was because I had been further aroused. Even so, I felt a small gush of moisture slip from between my legs—then I was more aware of it when his low voice spoke against my ear, brimmed with stern vitality,

"_This is your part of the bargain, pet. I gave you your precious lime light; perhaps I had given a little more than what I had originally intended. This is my reward for my efforts for tonight."_

His hand in my hair went up into my roots and pulled my head back; I met his eyes.

"Is that clear?" he asked.

I stared at him, torn between anxiety and a carnal pleasure.

"Harper…"

"Crystal, Sir," I answered him quietly.

"Good."

I felt his hand weave and move through my hair; I wasn't sure what he was doing until I felt the star-shaped berets unclasp one by one, and I was blinded by a brunette curtain. Loki placed each hair clip onto the end table beside him. He looked at me by simple observation.

"I feel uncomfortable." I volunteered as he watched me.

"Why is that?"

"I don't intend to offend you, Sir; but I don't enjoy being stared at for so long," I replied.

"Is that so?" Loki shifted beneath me, straightening his back. While he moved, I felt the slightest lift beneath his trousers. I blushed. "Are you shy, Harper?"

I made a nervous chuckle,

"It really all depends on the situation…"

"That's not what I asked."

"Yes," I said flatly. "I am shy."

"That bodes well for me," Loki remarked.

His tone made me wonder what else he had in store for me if not just carnal pleasures behind closed doors. In that scenario, yes, I was very shy. I didn't want to say. Instead, Loki brought a hand to the underside of my chin and pulled me into a kiss.

I was tense.

"Relax, pet," Loki muttered against my mouth.

I was anxious, yet I wrapped my arms around his neck—at first, I was testing to see if he would let me do it; and when he didn't protest, I kissed him back. He tasted like mint and ice again; it was intoxicating. Seated upon his lap, I felt vulnerable yet empowered. It was a mixed feeling—false security. Loki's tongue intruded between my lips; it kissed me fiercely, and I welcomed it with open fire. A moan escaped me. Beneath a scourging heat that was building between my legs, I felt the stir of an erection; Loki smirked against my open mouth, and it only encouraged it.

I pulled away, drinking in oxygen.

When I couldn't breathe, Loki's lips descended to my neck. He left wet butterfly kisses beneath my jaw bone, subtle hints of the max capacity for what his mouth could really do. I bit my bottom lip, and I was doing well until I felt his hot tongue trace those small kisses. I moaned aloud.

"Are you loyal to me, Harper?" his voice was like liquid arousal. I felt the vibration of his words against my throat.

"I am…" I said softly.

"Show me."

I smiled at his command; I was more than willing to prove it.

I descended upon his neck the way that he fell upon mine; yet even though I tried to follow his pattern, I knew that I was not the most gentle of lovers. I felt his hands clasp my thighs, so I seized both his wrists and pinned them to the couch. Loki made a small chuckle. I slid away from him and knelt between his legs.

"Hm, as it should be," said Loki, gazing at me at my position.

"You wanted me to show you," I remarked, indicating him for reassurance. "Yes?"

"I haven't stopped you, have I?"

I reached for his belt and unfastened the buckle. Although I felt confident in this uncharacteristic ability, my hands shook as I unraveled his belt from his trousers.

He was watching me.

"You look frightened," observed Loki.

"I'm not frightened," I breathed.

I pulled down his pants a few inches. I wasn't frightened. I was torn apart with anxiety, a desire to please him, and my own arousal that was starting to annoy me. It wasn't like me to take things so slow in the bedroom (or in this case, my living room). In all aspects, I wasn't the slow, romantic lover—so truthfully, Loki's grace and step-by-step moments of lust tortured me….

I liked it.

I found Loki's member; it was semi-erect. I wrapped my fingers around him; simultaneously, I felt another small slip of moisture hit me. I could have guessed that my panties were wet by now. I would have to try my hardest to accommodate him; perhaps that made it seem challenging to me. I glanced up at Loki, whose eyes to my surprise had closed. This pleased me, for I could watch his expression without my concentration suffering under his penetrating gaze.

I stroked him slowly. His eyes shifted beneath closed lids.

"My Lord?"

"I'm fine." I smiled when I heard his voice reach a lower octave.

He hardened in my grasp. I positioned the tip of his head against my lips and kissed him tenderly. While his face held no reaction, I glanced at his hand upon the arm of the couch; I felt a sense of confidence as his knuckles whitened with his grip on the arm. I stroked him and licked the head deliberately slow; Loki's breathing was becoming heavy.

I encased him into my mouth, and Loki made a very soft moan.

It was like someone had poured gasoline down my front and lit a match—it was the most arousing noise that I had ever heard in my entire life. I closed my eyes and I bobbed my hand up and down. He withdrew small pants of air, but I could hear him. One of his hands tangled into my hair.

"Mmm…Look at me."

I opened my eyes to see the dilated pupils of a lust-filled gaze.

"Harder, pet."

I sucked in; the hollow of my cheeks tightened the space in my mouth. Loki's expression sent another wave of pleasure between my legs. His teeth clenched and the grip of his hand in my hair tightened. His hips started to thrust his head into my mouth. I held fast to his waist.

"Good girl…"

Add that to the burning sensation down there…

I made a small moan. Loki made a dazed smile; no doubt he had felt the vibration of my voice echo around his erection. I felt him tense.

Loki made a shameless moan as he ejaculated into my mouth. I swallowed his seed without command. He gestured for me to rise. I leaned forward, my hands on the cushion. He kissed me passionately. When I was occupied, he hooked his thumbs into the waistline of my slacks and drew them down. I made a small noise of protest—

"I—"

"Quiet, pet…"

Without much of an objection from me, one of his slender hands cupped me between my legs. I uttered a wanton cry; it was obvious that I was more than ready for what was to come. He wouldn't let me sit, nor would he let me stand. Loki directed my hand to hold the back of the couch while I hovered over him.

Through my underwear, he smoothed a finger along my pulsing clit. It begged for his attention. When I made a noise of pleasure, he began to rub his hand against me. I squirmed at his touch. It was an agonizing pleasure—something given but really nothing to there to satisfy.

"I know that this is torture for you, Harper," he said into my ear. "I know that your objections only cry out for more. This isn't your game, dove. It's mine."

"Please." I said quietly.

"Indulgence is in your nature," he whispered. "Satisfaction is not in mine. We could do this forever."

I bit my lower lip.

"My Lord, I cannot stand like this fore—"

"You will do this for as long as I say, pet. Now," he tapped my thighs with his index finger, "Widen your stance."

"Sir?"

"You know what I said."

I moved my legs wider apart. His hand resumed its ministrations, only it gave me more and took less. It was ironic, and it pained and pleasured me all the same. I moaned without shame, struck with intense sensations against my clit.

"That," Loki said, his lips against my cheek, "is music to _my_ ears."

He slipped his hand down my panties and slipped a finger effortlessly through my folds.

I almost plundered; my knees buckled beneath me. What strength that I had, I held the back of the couch for support. Loki slipped another finger inside me. I squealed in delight—

He prodded inside me with talented fingers; I moaned aloud against his neck. His hand on my hip held me still. His demand was for me not to move. As much as I wanted to meet his dueled thrusts, I felt that it would lose the effect if he let me. He dominated me, and it sent shivers down my spine.

"Mmm…"

Loki's purr sent another wave of pleasure. I could feel my arousal start to drip from my legs.

"Lie down, Harper."

I readily obeyed. I stepped out of my slacks and pulled down my panties. He grinned as I sat down on the couch, half-naked. Loki crawled to me as I lay on my back. I watched him hike my legs onto his shoulders. I bit my lower lip as he re-inserted his two fingers deep into my folds. I cried out in pleasure. My breath hitched as he pulled them out and plunged them back into me. My hips bucked. I clawed at the back of the couch in animal need.

Surely this would bring me to the brink then—

I felt my entire body shake as Loki's tongue flicked along my clit. Renewed moisture coated my sex, and I moaned loudly into the lit living room. Loki's fingers persisted in and out, and my body hoped against hope that he would let me meet his thrusts.

"Be _still._"

"I…I…" I wanted to object, or actually that's what I was trying to do.

"Be still, I said."

His demand was stern. I looked at him; his gaze was piercing. I nodded feebly.

I was reduced to animal behavior. Wit aside, this was what I was deep down…some kind of feral beast. Loki removed his fingers. I writhed in disappointment, only to be reassured as Loki's tongue slipped between my folds. His hands wrapped around my thighs to hold me open to him. A stream of wrangled cries pulled from me as I edged toward orgasm.

"Don't stop…please…" I cried out.

When I was about to come, Loki emitted that arousing purr—and I seized in his grasp. Orgasm hit me. I curled my toes; my hands balled into tight fists. My back arched. Loki's hold on my thigh gripped tighter as he continued thrust his tongue in and out of my dripping sex—A second orgasm hit me.

I cried out his name as he spurred me on.

Then Loki climbed on top of me. His mouth claimed mine in a passionate kiss. Not a second later, I felt his hard erection push through my slick barrier with a rough thrust.

"Ah!" I cried out as he entered me forcefully.

I wrapped my legs around his waist as he claimed what was his. My hands seized his hips; strong muscle flexed beneath my fingers. His moans were delicious; and I felt rejuvenated waves of pleasure slick me again.

"Oh, harder…" I breathed.

He lowered his head and kissed my neck. His thrusts became rough, and I grinned as he granted me my breathless request. I cried out as he bit down on the crook of my shoulder.

I edged again on another orgasmic.

"Loki…" I moaned his name as I came close.

"Come for me," he hissed this order as he swept his tongue against his made mark upon my shoulder. I rocked against his thrusts. It took less than three hard thrusts to pull me over the edge again. When I ceased, I dug my nails into Loki's back. I felt him seize inside me and he came after me.

Loki sighed and smirked at me.

"Payment," he breathed.

I smiled weakly.


	9. Good Morning

Angel of Music

Chapter Nine: Good Morning

When I woke up in the morning, I had been moved from the couch and I lay in my bedroom with the curtains drawn. I couldn't remember getting up in the middle of the night, so I assumed that I had fallen asleep on the couch. Situated warmly underneath my blankets, I could feel the nestled sheets bare against my body and realized that I was still naked from last night's excursion. In the darkness, I turned over on my side to fall back asleep—yet I was pleasantly surprised to see Loki lying next to me in bed. At first, I was shocked. I had thought like the other times when I saw him he had vanished; instead, he never left.

Loki faced me: his eyes were closed; his sculpted chest rose and fell steadily to a calm rhythm of peaceful repose. His arm was around my waist. He was naked beside me; the covers hugged his hips. I found myself watching him sleep. Although he would always seem at peace in front of me, it was like he was stressed—though he kept a very good lid on it, unless I disobeyed. This visage before me—a god, a king, my lover, my master—slept in my bed with his arm around my waist…

It was the most tranquilizing picture that my eyes ever seen.

I smiled to myself.

Granted, My Lord was sexually insatiable; but I took it as a personal accomplishment that he would have ever given me such a gift as to be his mistress. I didn't fully understand him. I suspected that when it came time for me to know who he really was on his planet Asgard, or the plans that he had in store for _my_ planet, Midgard—he would tell me. I was curious, but so far my curiosity had placed me in compromising positions.

"Your mind races…"

Loki's lips moved as he spoke to me, so I knew that he wasn't wandering in my head.

His eyes opened to show me those brilliant rays of emerald green. Upon hearing his voice and meeting his gaze, I melted. His arm around my waist pressed against the small of my back, and he pulled me across the smallest gap between us. I made a nervous squeal. Awkwardly, my hands fumbled in trepid anxiety; and they met sturdy ground with Loki's chest.

Loki gave me a look that I couldn't recognize. It conveyed arrogance with confidence, or it was something deeper than that.

Whatever feelings that I had developed for this Asgardian, they were near and far and in-between—it was a cataclysmic blend of fear and fondness. I admired and feared his power that he possessed in just one hand. I felt that there was something that he wasn't telling me, something that he didn't want me to know. Everyone had secrets; so what were his? The power that he had over me was intoxicating and yet it confused and perplexed me, for I had never felt so drawn to any other man in my _Realm._ Loki was a different creature, almost inhuman.

Loki's eyes searched mine, and I could have already guessed that he had been reading my thoughts. Before, it had disturbed me because my own mind was like a dark cell that only I had the keys to unlock the door; to have my privacy bombarded had angered me. Now, lying beside Loki, it was almost like relief. There weren't any complicated emotions or thoughts that I had to elaborate. Pure honesty…

Loki's hand along my back gently stroked the length of my spine with his middle finger. I didn't know how to react to him, merely because I thought that he would have vanished the moment that I had made payment. I hadn't expected for him to spend the night with me.

I felt the muscles of his chest flex underneath my fingers. He was pale. Loki wasn't flawless; I could feel the smallest indications of light scars, and I imagined that they could have been from a marvelous battle.

"Where are you?" asked Loki.

Loki pushed off his side and rolled over on top of me. I bit the side of my lip in anxious pleasure as he straddled my hips. His arms pushed onto the bed and lay firmly against either side of my shoulders; and his beautiful fingers splayed onto the pillow on either side of my head. He trapped me beneath his body. The strenuous balance between fear and trepid delight tossed in my stomach.

Loki's head bowed and kissed my neck.

Against the hallow pit above my collarbone, his lips kissed, and then the vibrations of his low voice hissed,

"Come back to me."

"I'm here…" I whispered.

Loki's hand dipped between our bodies. I felt the eyes roll in the back of my head as his fingers teased the small pulse between my legs. A quick sigh escaped upon my breath. Wherever his lips kissed, his tongue surely followed. Between his mouth and his teasing fingers just barely lingering against a pulsing heat; I squirmed underneath him in dire need. Loki smirked.

"You should leave early today," said Loki against the shell of my ear. "You'll be late for rehearsal."

"No…" I said.

My hands reached underneath his arms to wrap around his hips.

"No?" drawled Loki seductively.

"Finish what you started…" I pleaded. I could feel his fingers roll against my clit. I felt a rush of moisture slick my hot entrance, and his hand only encouraged it.

"Is that what you want?" asked Loki in a deep voice.

"Yes," I moaned.

"Why should I give you your release, pet?"

"I need it," I heard myself cry in a soft voice.

The torture that his fingers brought to me was starting to hurt me, yet it was strenuous indulgence. I wanted the suspense to last, yet the growing ache between my legs was pulling me in any way possible. He could have me in front of a standing ovation, and it wouldn't bother me as long as I had satisfaction. My hips rolled underneath him.

"Please, Sir…"

One of Loki's fingers slipped against my folds and started to stroke up and down. Loki reached for one of my legs and slipped his hands beneath my thigh; he wrapped my leg around his waist. I felt his arousal harden against my stomach.

"You crave for your own satisfaction, Harper," he breathed against my neck, "but do you ache for mine?"

"Yes." I answered in supple breaths. His occupied hand at my controls made it hard to breathe. My eyes were shut tight as I tried to keep in steady restraint. "Yes, I do."

Loki shifted on top of me, and I felt his bold erection start to throb against my navel.

"Why do you ache for me?"

"You're my master, I ache only for you," I said.

"Look at me, Harper."

I opened my eyes to meet his. The lust in his eyes made me want him more than anything that I had ever wanted in my life. Loki was breathing heavily. I smiled contently, pleased. I recognized that look on his face.

Then I felt two fingers penetrate me; I squealed, startled, but a languorous moan escaped my mouth as he pumped his fingers in and out of me. I could feel my arousal slowly slick against my inner thighs and drip to the sheets. Loki seized my bottom lip with his teeth. His fingers curled and clicked into my sweet spot. The intense jump in my stomach nocked my knuckles, and I dug my fingernails into the length of his back.

"Mmm…"

I heard the gratified purr in his voice as I dragged my fingernails from his shoulder to his waist.

"If anything," I uttered in dire need against his delectable cheekbones, "take your release, Sir." I felt my walls clench longingly around his fingers. I could feel myself coming close. "Take me, use me…" I seized his neck with my hands. "Anything…"

"Hmm, aren't you so giving?" his lips taunted me, just centimeters from my mouth.

It was like he was drinking in my flustered spirit, and I ached for more contact. He was close enough to kiss me, but his lips hovered over my mouth as he spoke to me—his voice aroused a lit fire in the pit of my belly. His fingers quaked and thundered into my slick opening, and I felt myself approach the brink. I could feel his hard cock throb against my stomach. His self-control was undeniable; and I admired his restraint, but any more of this would have me crying out for—

"_My Lord, I'm begging you, take me!"_ I moaned aloud.

Loki pulled his fingers from me. He used his elbows to balance himself over me, and his lips captured my mouth in sweet endeavor—then—

I moaned in relief as I felt him penetrate my walls. Loki moaned into our kiss; his voice pulled my stomach into a pleasurable twist. I made to wrap my hands around his back; however I was taken by surprise as he seized my wrists with a rough grip. He pinned my hands to either side of my head. With that gesture, he broke the kiss.

"Harper…" he breathed my name as he slowly pulled out of me.

My hands clenched in his grip.

"Make me come," I begged. "Please."

Loki shifted on top of me. His knees parted my thighs as I felt my legs start to close in anxious need. Loki's arousal wasn't granted, yet he was pulling me apart like thread. His cock just barely nudged against my entrance. He was teasing me. I buckled my hips to urge him inside me, yet he only pulled away from me.

"_What are you doing to me?"_ I asked, breathless and wanting. Every second pushed me closer to arousal, but the sudden withdrawal called back the empty ache inside me. It was almost painful; and, unfortunately for me, he was the only one who could relieve it.

"I know that you aren't a gentle lover, Harper." His words were brushed against my swollen lips as he was merely a few centimeters from me. Loki's fingers dug with hardened force around my wrists.

"I want to see that _dominant_ side of you, pet." His voice dropped into a low baritone with emphasis. I felt my toes curl upon hearing him. "I am your king, make no mistake; but I want to see what makes you so worthy."

"You chose _me_," I said quietly, looking at him. "You came to _me._"

"Then why should I stay any longer if you can't take what is yours?" he remarked.

To my disappointment and growing displeasure, he released my wrists and pulled back to sit on my waist. I stared at him, puzzled, but I was starting to feel annoyed. He could push me to just over the brink and deny me just that. I felt a turn in my stomach, the slightest hint of anger.

"My Lord, you wanted me submissive," I said.

I was still very aware that he was sitting on me.

Loki scoffed.

"I chose you," he said, "because you are a feral beast, hidden behind a beautiful song."

I started to feel unnerved as he leaned forward and looked at me with a provocative smirk.

"If all you are now is a subservient and weak bird of prey, what is there to tame?" taunted Loki.

He dismounted me and leaned back on his heels.

"I'm not weak," I said patiently, sitting up.

Loki shrugged.

"Harper, you're very obedient." He side-kneeled my leg and turned to lie on his back beside me. "I know that there is an animal inside you, pet."

I licked my bottom lip.

I looked at Loki and narrowed my eyes at him with taste. Loki took my fingers into his hand and kissed my finger pads. I watched his tongue flick out from between his lips. From being entirely dominated by Loki only to be snubbed for not fighting back had stunted me for a brief moment, but only for a moment. I took a bold chance and climbed on top of him. He looked at me from the head of the bed. He didn't protest.

His hand fell away from my wrist, yet I steadied my fingers against his mouth.

"Don't stop," I said gently, staring down at him. Loki met my gaze momentarily. Loki kissed my fingertips. "Open your mouth, _King,_" I said sternly.

Loki smirked in approval. He slowly dropped his jaw as if to mock me, yet he obliged as well. I took two of my fingers and dipped them into his mouth; his lips closed in around my fingers. I felt my stomach drop in pleasure. Watching him suck my fingers pulled me into succulent lust.

Oh, this was _so_ much better.

I rocked my hips against his waist. I could feel his cock harden against my lower backside. I made my fingers follow my rhythm against his stomach. His head slowly bobbed against the pillow to take my fingers into his mouth. His teeth lightly grazed the underside of my fingers. I bit my lower lip as he made a beautiful expression.

His hands cradled my thighs; I smacked his hands away.

"Don't touch me," I hissed.

He muffled something with my fingers in his mouth—I removed them so that he could speak.

"What was that?" I asked.

"I said," said Loki, "what will you do if I don't obey?"

His fingers reclaimed my thighs. I paused. When I realized that I had an empty threat, Loki took advantage, and he slipped his fingers between my legs. I moaned as he intruded, knowing that even as he prodded inside me that I was no longer in control.

"Stop…" I hissed quietly, trying to take control. My hips answered his thrusts. "Please, stop…"

"Make me, pet."

I moaned as his fingers pumped in and out of me.

"Harper…"

Then he stopped. I made a struggled groan from the bottom of my throat; and my hips hitched in desperate need. Loki was smiling at me.

"Make me come." My voice was low in almost contempt, of wanton need.

"Why should a lion bow to a pigeon, pet?" was his answer to me.

I gritted my teeth angrily.

So I struck him.

Loki made a small gasp as I back-handed him across the face. What I had been expecting was a self-righteous fury to succumb a god-like king. However, he smiled at me, and rubbed the reddening patch on his cheek.

"Hm, good girl."

I was stunned by my actions, but possibly more astonished by his.

Loki's hand returned to my pulsing clit. He took two fingers and slipped into my slick opening, and I moaned in response. Loki returned to pumping his fingers in and out of me, and I rode his hand.

"Harper—"

"I know…" I breathed, "But I like it this way…"

I leaned forward and held his shoulders as his fingers curled up into my g-spot. Loki's fingers then left me suddenly. I cried out in annoyance and withdrawal, frustrated.

"I can't do this much more," I whimpered against his neck.

As if in response, Loki's hands grabbed my ass and he brought me down onto his throbbing cock. He guided my body to ride him, and the sensation was so delicious. I moaned out loud against his neck; his hips buckled up against my inner thighs. Loki's lips settled against the shell of my ear,

"Have I broken my little pet, Harper?"

"I _want_ you to break me," I hissed against his shoulder between pants.

I felt sweat coat my body. I moaned aloud as he pounded into me. He was pushing through each barrier against my walls. Loki was surely ripping me apart, and it felt so good.

"Oh, yes," I cried out, writhing on top of him.

"Sit up, Harper."

With difficulty, I straightened. His hands bruised my hips. My breasts bounced freely as he pried his cock into me. I had to use his chest as leverage. When I looked down at him, he was watching me with approval.

"Tell me what to do, My Lord," I breathed. "Instruct me. Order me."

Loki looked amused.

"Say my name," he told me.

I felt my orgasm start to approach. My walls clenched desperately around him.

"Loki," I moaned as I began to edge—that sweet moment, those tender seconds before climax. I didn't want him to stop, not when I was so close again.

I grabbed his hands from my hips and pinned them to the pillows.

"Harper—"

"You're not stopping me _this time,"_ I growled aggressively.

He made a whimsical smile. I firmly hugged my legs against his naked hips and rode his erection. Loki's back arched. Loki's eyes closed; his jaw slowly dropped as I rocked against him. He uttered beautiful moans.

"I want you to come undone," I told him, "by me."

His eyes tightened, and he clenched his teeth. Loki's throat was exposed to me. I leaned forward and sunk my teeth into the side of his neck. I hoped that it would bruise him. Loki made a delicious sound when I bit him.

"Do you like this, My Lord?" I asked then licked my mark on his skin.

He emitted a prominent purr and it turned my stomach. I released his hands. He grabbed my hips and buried me to the hilt. I moaned in response. My fingers found his throat; as a reaction, his head leaned back into the pillow. His eyes watched me. I felt every part of me begin to grow sore, yet it felt like I was lit by a flame. As he buried into me, I heard a low guttural growl escape my throat.

"Ahhh," Loki sighed in approval. His hands probed my rocked shoulders. "There's my girl."

I squealed when he flipped me onto my back and mounted me. His hands seized my thighs as he sat back on his ankles. He wrapped his fingers around the back of my knees and held my legs open as he hit me hardest in my g-spot. I screamed his name and writhed and squirmed as the strongest orgasm hit me the hardest. My walls clenched roughly and squeezed hard around Loki's riveted cock. Loki moaned as I tightened in delicious rapture; and I felt his seed spill into me.

After a swift pause, he rolled off me and lay beside me in bed. Loki's chest rose and fell in delicious panting. I smiled with breathy atonement. My entire body was aching.

Loki kissed my cheek.

"Good morning, Darling."

I laughed weakly.

"Good morning, Sir."


	10. Insolent Boy, This Slave of Fashion

The Angel of Music

Chapter Ten: Insolent Boy, This Slave of Fashion

I was utterly sore when I arrived at the Lawless Opera House. The insides of my thighs were screaming with every step; there was the strongest tension in the upper chamber of my stomach that couldn't unclench. There was the slightest pain whenever I bent forward just the smallest of movement. Through this ample suffering, I didn't regret last night; nor did I regret this morning. If anything that I relished from these little pains, it was the revelation of two things: (1) I hadn't dreamed up the entire thing, and Loki _was_ real; and (2), if pain was what made it self-evident that I was fit as Loki's mistress then I was pleased.

When I arrived at the Lawless Opera House, it was near evening. Last night's gala would continue where it had left off; and knowing this, I dreaded to see Joseph Monarch. Our last encounter had involved a reluctant get-away—not on my behalf, on his. Despite his apparent relationship with Lauren, he wanted to have me on the side—or that was what I assumed was the concept of his invitation to a night out on the town. I wanted to keep it civil. Even if I wanted anything to do with Joseph, to try to court him would cost him something dear. Loki knew his intent, even if I didn't. If Loki didn't like Joseph then I had every reason to believe that Joseph would cause me harm.

I approached the stage, which was lit just like the night before. The only differences were that this time, the stage wasn't flushed with bright light or white-themed sheep and the star-lit backdrop. It was switched to a dark chapel where the congratulated and celebrated Christine would pray to her musical phantom; then the scene would switch to a romantic subplot between Raul and Christine. To follow, Christine would finally come face-to-face with her teacher.

These scenes were to play tonight. Or so it would play out according to plan.

Since I met my new master, I assumed that destiny would take an unexpected detour into an either grotesque outcome or an erotic result. My data to go on was the now de-vocalized Belinda and the pleasurable morning sex with Loki. Tonight could go either way, though I hoped for the last.

I passed the lit stage to walk into a crowded room where a dressed Joseph Monarch—completely donned in a viscount's visage, wig and all—was flirting with one of the female dancers. Lauren was nowhere to be seen in the room amongst the flock of gaggling chorus girls. To my displeasure, along with the other stomach-upsetting emotions that rocked my being, Joseph's attention focused on me almost immediately when I entered the room. To the infatuated _mademoiselle_'s disappointment, Joseph turned away from the girl that he had been courting to walk to me in a confident, bordering arrogant strut.

Pay heed to this: this strut was not the walk of a proud and deserving king like Loki. Joseph's mannerism depicted ignorance and over-stepped boundaries. It was insolent and unappealing. It didn't help the wave of nausea that overcame me when he flicked his wig-hair off his shoulder. He approached to where I had been standing for only a minute and leaned up against the wall closest to me.

"Good evening, pet."

"Don't call me that," I said coldly.

"Ooh, a bit edgy, aren't we? That's perfectly all right, love. I don't mind the heat."

"Do you always have to be so forth right?" I side-stepped his slumped form to head toward my dressing room. He pushed off the wall to pursue me; his steps quickened and he was at my shoulder, smirking at me with obvious delight.

"Isn't that what you like in a man? A sense of direction, Harper?"

"I have to like the direction, Joseph," I sighed irritably.

I glanced at him; that smug smile was imprinted on his face like the permanent wicked grin of the psychotic clown from the _Batman_ movies. I didn't like it at all, especially since I distrusted him from the beginning. Although he was rude, inappropriate, and just about the most self-absorbed man that I had ever met—I wanted nothing bad to happen to him. If Loki's intention was to have me chose his punishment for his rudeness, I wouldn't know what to do about that. With his charm, Joseph could just have about any woman that he wanted; and he was especially talented in the dramatic arts. He wasn't solely dependent on his voice like Belinda had been.

I halted mid-step and looked at Joseph sincerely in the eye.

"You shouldn't flirt with me," I told him gently.

"Oh?"

"It could cost you dearly," I warned him.

Joseph looked at me questionably with a light cock of his head. At first, he frowned in confusion. The corner of his mouth twitched upward, and he smiled at me. When I didn't as much as smirk, he stepped toward me.

I felt a rush of uncertainty.

In this hall, we were alone. Yes, to my left were those trapezing dancers; but they were a long way away from us. To my right, there was an empty dressing room. The dark hallway hid us both, and I was very aware of this. Joseph's dark eyes appeared black in the shadowed length of the wall. When he took another step toward me, I felt the wall against my back.

"Is that," he asked me with a delicate lift of intention, "a threat?"

"No." I answered honestly.

A slow, apathetic smirk crossed his arrogant features. He leaned a hand against the wall just above my head.

"Harper, tell me something."

"Fine."

Joseph licked his lips steadily.

"If Lauren wasn't in the picture, would you have me over at your place tonight?"

I frowned at him.

I breathed sarcastically, "What, Joseph? Like a night cap?"

"Sure; whatever you want, pet."

I felt my stomach turn and I clenched my teeth, unnerved.

"_I told you not to call me that anymore,"_ I muttered.

I pushed him in the chest and stepped away from him.

"Call you what? 'Pet'?" He made a soft chuckle. "Does it make you feel inferior? Well, Darling, you're not an inferior animal to me, Harper. You're a delicate flower with rosy petals."

"Knock it off," I remarked.

I started toward my dressing room.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey…Hey."

He practically sprinted after me. Upon his soothing words, he glided to stand in front of me, blocking my way.

"Look, Harper, I only act this way because I like you. This cold exterior just needs a warm woman's touch."

"You have a woman," I said lightly. "_Lauren."_

"She's my girlfriend. A _girl._ I need a woman. A _real _woman."

He reached around me; I felt his hand touch the small of my back.

Then it fell lower—

I struck him hard across the face.

Joseph cried out in pain and fell against the wall.

I felt my entire face redden; perhaps only some of it was out of anger. The other half of me—the one that was devoted to Loki—I felt embarrassed. My strength against mortals—anyone except Loki—was apparently very strong. Joseph's face wasn't just red. There were four fine scratches embedded into his left cheek. His whole left side of his face was pink. I was amazed at this.

When I had struck Loki, he had taken it as if I had lightly tapped him on the cheek.

Joseph uttered a small sob. He rose to his feet, using the wall as leverage.

"Look at what you did to my face!"

He held out his hand, which carried the smallest trace of blood along his fingertips.

"I go on tonight, Harper!"

I frowned.

"Don't. Touch. Me."

"Harper, I was only—"

"No." I stepped toward him. "Don't touch me. Never again. When we're on stage, we will perform. We will act. We'll be the Raul and Christine that the audience expects. Oh, we'll be lovers."

Joseph stared at me with a contemptuous glare in his eyes. I stood my ground.

"However," I continued, "the moment that the lights go out and the audience applauds; we are nothing more than co-workers. _This"—_I indicated he and I with my hand—"isn't happening between us. _Nothing _will happen. If you can't accept that, I suggest that you put in your resignation and look for a job somewhere else."

I turned on my heel and headed for my dressing room.


	11. His Life is the Price

Angel of Music

Chapter Eleven: His Life is the Price

I closed the door to my dressing room and leaned against it; a breath of relief slipped from my lips. Joseph Monarch was near close to being in danger; I could feel it. His advances could cost him his place in the opera if Loki decided to put my decision-making to the test. Or, if fate would be so unkind, it could cost Joseph his life. If I could keep Joseph away from me as long as possible, at least he would be safe from me. I posed no physical threat to my dear co-worker, and even still I thought that he was a pig. It wasn't me whom Joseph needed to fear.

It was Loki.

I started to walk forward to sit in front of my vanity mirror where I could start dressing my hair to fit the curly-haired brunette angel that was Emmy Rossum. It took several hours to get each curl to bounce like hers did on screen, and the managers were particular about the details. I sat down and stared at myself in observation.

It was clear that I looked frightened, but I didn't why. Yesterday, I had done very well on stage. The opera house had applauded. However, my success wouldn't have prevailed if Belinda hadn't been put aside. Now I wondered if Loki would have to intervene tonight in order to keep my succession rolling. Joseph Monarch's stubbornness would get him into trouble.

Even as I gazed at myself in the mirror in trepid contemplation, I was taken out of my reverie when the bright lights that hung above me on my vanity started to slowly die without assistance. The flooded light in the room became nothing short of small tea-lights from where the bulbs had been dimmed. At first, I was unnerved, having been startled from ominous thought about Joseph's eventual destruction; however, I heard a voice waiver in the silence; and it soothed me—

"_Brava, Brava, Bravissima…"_

The echo in the room was an excellent touch, much like how the phantom had praised Christine in tonight's opening act. Yet it was not Gerard Butler who congratulated me in this darkness.

I smiled to myself when I recognized it as Loki's voice, lightly singing in the farthest corners of my dressing room. I glanced at myself in the mirror. My fear left me, and now I was beaming from his approval.

A golden shimmer conjured in the mirror before me. As I had suspected, Loki's shining appearance met my gaze through the glinting surface of the spotless glass. He was translucent; it was a manifestation as if I could touch him yet I would never have that subtle luxury. He was a blur of green and gold, so I assumed that he was dressed in the leather and metal of his Realm. The golden mist that I had seen was the beaming light of my dressing room that bounced off his arm guards.

In my disarray, it looked like Loki was walking toward me. I rose to my feet.

"Your efforts are admirable," said Loki through the glass, though I didn't see his mouth move. It was my understanding that he was communicating to me telepathically. His eyes, though, disarmed me. From my visual standing point, Loki's gaze smoldered with cynicism.

"Your efforts are admirable," repeated Loki, and he shook his head, "but futile."

I was startled to hear such pettiness in his voice. It was condescension.

"My Lord, I only mean to spare him," I said in response, referring to Joseph.

I stepped back when Loki's reflection came up too close to the mirror. In my apprehension, I stumbled backward, and I fell against a sturdy body. I turned to see Loki's true form standing behind me. A gasp of fright fell from me when I saw such contempt in his gaze. When I prattled back to stand out of the way of such a penetrating look, he reached for me and grabbed me sternly by arm.

His emerald gaze, one which this morning had looked upon me so loving affection now peered back at me with such raw disgust.

"This mortal, this _man_, who treats you with vile disregard—" Loki's voice was barely above a whisper, but he never had to raise his voice in order to get his point across—"you would have me spare him?"

"He's an ignorant fool." I excused Joseph's behavior earlier this evening.

Loki released me. I should have been relieved to know that he no longer intended to harm me; but I felt my stomach churn in certain shame. I believed that he let my arm go out of disgust that I would allow Joseph to treat me this way; and that—in the reasonable trail of logic—I, too, was disgusting.

"I do not intend to make you miserable, Harper," Loki breathed, "but I would have it be my existence that makes you suffer than the idiocy of this…boy." He indicated an impatient hand at the door.

"Joseph's not looking for anything with me," I said defensively. "I made it perfectly clear."

"Have you?"

Loki looked at me intently. I couldn't find an honest response.

"Have you," he continued as he took a sure step toward me, "made it _very_ clear that you do not want any intimate relationship with this boy? What makes you so certain that he won't attempt to affirm his advances…whether you've '_made it perfectly clear'_ or not, Harper? Who is he to keep his word?"

Then his gaze smoldered and his words were simmering anger upon a low voice,

"Who are you to keep yours?"

I furrowed my brow, hurt.

"Joseph would try to seduce me," I answered. "It's a foolish promise to think that he won't resist. I thought that my honesty was worth accommodating in our relationship—whatever relationship that it is we have. Betrayal wasn't part of our agreement…"

"Oh, well, aren't you such a loyal dog…" Loki remarked cynically.

I felt my chest tighten in emotional pain.

Loki and I stood only two feet apart. Although his words cut deeper into me than any dagger ever could, I still felt so close to him. What he showed me was pure jealousy, or perhaps he was just overprotective. His words weren't formed out of spite, even if they came off with quivering notes of contempt. The only few words that hurt me was when he called me a dog.

I stayed silent, for I didn't know what words were appropriate for such tension.

In short, I wordlessly decided that if the only way that I could prove that I felt no inclination toward Joseph was by allowing harm to come to him, I would gladly accept it.

Loki's eyes lingered on me. He regarded my silence. Then he gave me a look of resignation. On any man, I recognized it as a wordless apology; for he stepped toward me and wrapped his around my shoulders, then embraced me. I felt his arms pull me close. Mine came to hold him around his hips.

The smell of leather filled my nostrils, and I was slightly aroused from the heady air of it. It was like the smallest dip into a brazen battlefield, swamped with God-like soldiers in leather and metal. I always believed that whenever Loki appeared to me in his Asgardian armor, he had been fighting in his homeland and returned to me. I didn't know his situation in his Realm, but it was a seductive notion to keep him in mind.

In his arms, I felt secure—possibly the safest that I had ever felt in my entire life.

I, too, pulled him to me in a tight embrace.

He lowered his mouth to my ear.

"I will spare the wretch; I will do so only because my mistress has asked me to do so this…" His voice was like silk, so smooth and never dampened by hesitation; yet his words provoked a dark promise. "However, I will not intervene if he should attack you"—I could feel his lips touch the shell of my ear—"unless you ask it of me."

I understood this claim. If any harm would come to Joseph, it was because I would allow it to happen. It would be inevitable, just like Belinda. My payment would be out of the fact that I had asked Loki to kill him in order to save my body; the generosity of his pleasure to kill Joseph would only be an added bonus.

I nodded to acknowledge my understanding of this ominous bargain.

Loki's arms unraveled from my shoulders. He gave me a charming smile then leaned in to kiss me fully on the lips. It was romantic, yet I could guess that this was a reaffirmed proclamation kiss, a wordless confirmation—

_You are mine, and mine only._


	12. Christine, What Are You Afraid Of?

Angel of Music

Chapter Twelve: Christine, What Are You Afraid Of?

When I left the dressing room, Executive Producer Darren How appeared beside me from the shadows in the small hallway where Joseph Monarch had cornered me about half an hour ago. Darren had a beseeched expression upon his middle-aged face; and I didn't pretend to deny that I understood why. His spectacles were hanging on the bridge of his nose; drops of stressed perspiration clung to the bags under his eyes, and a prominent frown was etched into his usual cheerful features. He apparently had been there the entire time; for he turned to look at me as he emitted a small sigh of relief.

"I thought that you had fallen asleep." Darren said in a voice that was unreasonably low. There was no one around us; we were alone.

"Why are you whispering?" I asked as I gestured to the empty hallway.

"Darling, are you sure that you are all right?" Darren placed a consoling hand on my shoulder.

"Why are you calling me 'darling'?"

"Harper, you've been acting very strange."

"I'm fine."

"You've been…talking to yourself. You sassed Belinda, which isn't like you at all. You've been exceptionally rude to Lauren. My god, you _punched_ Joseph in the face! And just a moment ago, you were having a serious conversation in the dressing room; when you walked out, there was no one there. Harper, I'm beginning to worry."

I shrugged.

"That isn't anything out of the ordinary." I smiled, but I knew that I didn't look convincing. So I continued, "I never liked Belinda; I never liked Lauren. You know Joseph is a prick, so you had to see that coming."

"You've been talking to yourself."

"It helps me think."

"That's some serious skill you have if you can imitate a man's voice _so_ well."

Darren and I exchanged a long stare, waiting for the other to break. I dared not speak the truth. Absolutely _no one_ was to know about Loki; and now I feared that Loki would resolve this problem by putting me in a tight bind—to make certain that Darren wouldn't interfere in our trade.

I wouldn't shed a tear if Joseph's life was put on the line, although I feared that some of that heat would fall on me because Joseph and I were having strict tension. It was selfish of me to protect Joseph for that reason, but there it was.

I didn't want anything to happen to Darren, so I prayed that Loki would let me handle him for right now.

"Everything is fine, Darren." I heard the sudden anxiety in my voice, so I smiled my best convincing smile.

Darren's wide eyes behind his thick glasses continued to gaze at me. It was an intention of trying to draw the truth out of me, but I thought about Loki's promise; and I stayed quiet.

"Honest," I added.

"Are you sure?"

_No._

"Yes," I lied.

Darren's eyes peered at me a minute longer.

"Is there a man in there? In that dressing room?"

"No."

"Is he hiding?"

"There's no one there. I told you: talking out loud helps me think."

He lightly bit the bottom of his lip, but he didn't press any further. Darren nodded and placed a gentle hand upon my shoulder.

"All right, Harper. All right."

The cramp in my stomach that I didn't know had been clenching so hard slowly eased.

He gave a great sigh of patience then beckoned for me to step to the stage.

"We have a full house tonight, my girl!"

Darren's voice changed from certain intensity to grateful cheer. He wanted to switch the subject as much as I did, and he did so with a wide grin on his face. He gave me a quick look-over, observing my costume and make-up swiftly. He didn't stare down at me with as much scrutiny as the make-up artists, and I was grateful. Darren tossed a few strands off my shoulders; then a hand slowly fell to my neck in a paternal caress.

He gave me a look of fatherly affection, and yet I saw concern in his gaze.

Darren knew that I was lying.

"Harper, you're doing wonderfully. Right and Blaise will forgive what you did to Joseph. He _is_ a nasty cuss; and they know how he can be. You _never_ deserved how he treats you. I just want you to know that your attitude has changed in the last week. It's both frightening and refreshing." His smile perked the corners of his mustache. "You'll be as marvelous on stage tonight as you were last night."

I smiled uncertainly, and I thought of Belinda. Would Loki have our bargain on stage tonight whilst I performed with Joseph? I feared that Loki's performance would shed more blood on the stage. It was lucky for all of us that Belinda's _accident_ happened during rehearsal? But what if Loki wanted to make an example out of Joseph?

"You _will_ do beautifully, Harper."

Darren's encouraging praise was extended to me because he thought that I was anxious about my performance tonight. I accepted it with a weary smile and thanked him accordingly.

I walked pass him and sat down in the middle of the stage. Behind the curtains, I could hear a roar of applause. I had gained some rapport from last night's scenes, and it sounded like everyone who had watched the beginning of the opera had returned for an encore. I was racked with excitement, the quivering nerve of enthusiastic breathlessness and rigid happiness that came with performing in front of a large crowd. It was euphoria.

I sat in front of a large array of candles, dressed in the white gown that Christine wore after she was a huge success after her debut. My heart skipped several beats as I gazed down at my folded hands in my lap, and I heard the softest echo as I had in the dressing room,

"_Brava, Brava, Bravissima…"_

Once more, I heard Loki's voice.

I glanced up, expecting to see him standing in front of me, but only the candle lights met my eyes. I stared into the flicking flames in front of me; they twitched according to my shallow breathing. My stomach plunged when, as I stared into the little tea lights of fire, I saw the quickest flash of an emerald gaze. The gaze was only swift, merely three seconds; but I recognized Loki's unmistakable eyes. My chest tightened when, in the next few seconds, I saw the swift flicker of a wide, handsome grin in the flames—it was gone, but I recognized Loki's unwavering smile.

Although he was absent in person, Loki lingered in my midst. I could say that he haunted my being; but that would be a negative connation. There was _nothing_ terrible about Loki's intangible presence. It was a relief, a blessing. In short, it was like having a guardian angel. Although I felt secure, I also felt an unfamiliar sense of exotic fear. It was frightening to know that he could show up whenever he wanted to; or peek into my mind whenever he fancied. Yet, it was arousing all the same.

Confusion at its best…

I was alone on stage. From either side of the curtains, Lauren—who apparently had taken her actress's spot—waited ecstatically at the end of the stage, waiting to sing Meg Giry's part. I hadn't spoken to her, but it looked like her place as Christine's best friend was fairly secure. Beside Lauren stood her not-so-cheerful boyfriend, Joseph; he had approached a nurse on her way in to the hospital and had her stitch him up for tonight's gala. Joseph sported a nasty wound on his cheek. I must have let him have it hard in that hallway; as I had noted before, I hadn't intended to strike him so roughly. Loki had taken my punches so well; I had forgotten that his dexterity and skin were not as vulnerable and soft as a mortal's flesh.

I couldn't help but feel proud about myself though; Joseph's advances had been slowly peeling away at my patient nerves for a while now. He had it coming.

Beside Joseph stood Misters Right and Blaise; they both looked happy, yet one glance at Joseph Monarch made it plain that they weren't too happy about what I had did to him.

I resumed to gazing at the candle light.

Then the curtains slowly parted, and the audience applauded cheerfully to welcome the second night of our showing of _Phantom of the Opera._

My back was to the audience.

I heard the small echo,

"_Brava, Brava, Bravissima…"_

It wasn't Loki, it was Mark Bane.

Mark Bane was the talented voice and actor portrayal of Erik. Mark's trademark was the cool, smooth, and steady baritone that he had whenever he sang; it was the next to the most beautiful voice that I had ever heard aside from the belted voice box of Sarah Brightman. Mark had been cast as Erik for not just his voice, but the fluidity and talent that he had as an actor. He had blown Joseph's act clear out of the water; but Darren had requested that Mark's trivial strong-built body and gliding footsteps to personify Erik instead of strut-striding viscount Raul. Mark Bane and I had nothing but the spotlight in common; yet he was one of the greatest co-workers that I had ever had the pleasure of knowing.

Mark was also one of the few with whom I could work with little issues.

Mark's voice bounced off the walls in a revered echo like the Phantom's voice in the film.

From my side, Lauren climbed onto the stage.

She was beautiful. Her hair had been dyed Meg-blonde; and she was put into a simple dancer's white dress. Lauren looked absolutely stunning when she wasn't side-hopping Belinda or clung to the arm of Joseph Monarch. She looked like an angel.

"_Christine…Christine."_ Lauren's young vibrato met matched the innocence on her face.

Mark's voice softly echoed after her,

"_Chrii…stiiine…"_

Lauren appeared beside me.

"_Where in the world have you been hiding?_

_Really you were perfect._

_I only wish I knew your secret._

_Who is your great tutor?"_

She took my arm and rose to her feet; she helped me up. I smiled at her, as was part of the script. I turned to the audience, where I searched the heavens as I had done last night. There in the direct row above me, standing elegantly against the balcony, was Loki. He was dressed in Midgardian clothes: the same suit that he had worn at my last performance.

Lauren discreetly squeezed my arm.

"_Father once spoke of an angel…_

_I used to dream he'd appear…"_

Loki smirked at me, and it made my stomach drop with pleasure. In mid-song, I saw an expression form on his face as he slowly closed his eyes.

He was listening to me.

"_Now as I sing, I can sense him;_

_And I know he's here!"_

Lauren slowly released my arm as I stepped toward the audience. Even as I appealed to them, my eyes were glued to Loki. It was intoxicating for me to see such a look on my master's face.

"_Here in this room, he calls me softly;_

_Somewhere inside, hiding._

_Somehow I know he's always with me,_

_He, the unseen genius."_

Lauren reached from behind me to grab my elbow; she turned me to face her. Although it was Meg's lines that she sung, even Lauren's face expressed some concern for me. She wondered what had drawn my attention in the crowd.

"_Christine, you must have been dreaming._

_Stories like this can't come true. _

_Christine, you're talking in riddles. _

_And it's not like you."_

Together—

"_Angel of music, guide and guardian,_

_Grant to me your glory—"_

"—_who is this angel—?"_

"_Angel of music,_

_Hide no longer; _

_Come to us, strange angel."_

I turned to face Lauren, who silently beseeched me with a gaze; but I slowly shook my head to stop her from interrupting the opera to ask about the person who stole my attention in the crowd.

"_He's with me even now…"_

"_Your hands are cold…_

"_Around me…"_

"_Your face, Christine, is white."_

"_He frightens me."_

"_Don't be frightened."_

That ended the first act. Lauren took my hand and led me off stage; the audience applauded our scene together, and the curtains fell. Lauren's fingers tightened around my wrist as she pulled me aside and away from our colleagues.

"What happened out there?" demanded Lauren.

"What?"

"You were lost."

"I was in the moment."

"No, someone caught your eye in the audience. I know that look, Harper."

"_What look?"_ I remarked defensively. "I was singing, and I was lost in the _song._"

"I know that look, Harper; not on _you._ It's _the_ look." Lauren grabbed my hand in both of hers. "You've found somebody, haven't you?" Her tone switched from interrogative to one that was lost in emotion. "Someone that you can trust, Harper? Someone that you love—?"

"I don't love him."

I pulled my hand out of her grasp.

"So there _is_ someone!" Lauren squealed happily.

I stumbled forward and held a hand to her mouth to quieten her.

"Shh!"

Lauren pried my hand from her lips.

"Harper, you shouldn't have kept it a secret—"

"For _all_ our sakes, I _must…"_ I breathed.

I was horrified to know that Lauren had realized what happened on that stage. I hadn't concealed my emotions well, and it had been apparent. I didn't know what I felt for Loki; but if I could pass him off as a one-night stand, it would save Lauren and Joseph…and perhaps I included.

Lauren wouldn't stay quiet, though. She was much too overjoyed that I might have found a lover who wasn't all _that_ bad.

"I knew that you were singing to him, I knew it."

"I was not." I denied it.

"Oh, Harper, that's so romantic."

"Shut _up."_

"You were _serenading _him."

"I said shut it," I snapped at Lauren.

She still grinned with glee. My impatience and hurtled anxiety came off as embarrassing pride; and it wasn't my intention. I didn't want Joseph to hear about this so-called wonderful news. If the lust-crazed actor knew that my urges were being satisfied by a midnight stranger, he would become unhinged. It was his nature. I didn't want to make this any more difficult than it had to be. Loki's promise was that he wouldn't intervene; but I didn't trust that promise.

I might have fallen for the God of Lies, but I feared him all the same.

"What's this about a lover that Lauren is talking about?" Joseph's voice carried from center stage during intermission.

I clenched my teeth in irritable resignation.

_Too late._

Although Lauren might have conceived this passive line as a professional interest, I heard the slightest hint of venom in his voice. He approached Lauren from behind and wrapped his arms around his waist. This wasn't affectionate. It was so that Lauren couldn't see his expression of spite on his face when he looked at me as he said,

"_Good for Harper._"

"It's so wonderful to have somebody to love," Lauren said. Her hands fell over Joseph's.

"Isn't it, though? I offered to show Harper around, Lauren," Joseph said acutely. He fooled Lauren, but he was giving me a dagger glare. "She, uh, _politely_ declined."

"I had other things planned, Joseph; I don't go out a lot." I remarked.

"Other plans to carry out: men to see, things to do…" Joseph gritted his teeth. "Or do I have that backwards?"

Lauren turned her head.

"_Joseph…_"

He glanced at her apologetically.

"You know that I don't like that," Lauren said unhappily.

"I'm sorry, love."

Lauren turned to me and smiled.

"We're working on our relationship. He can have a filthy mouth sometimes."

Upon that last remark, Joseph pulled his head away from hers where Lauren couldn't see his expression; and he winked at me. I frowned in disgust.

"Yeah," Joseph said slyly. "I, uh, I can have a filthy mouth sometimes…"

"But we're working on that," Lauren added with an innocent smile.

"Good for you," I muttered. "Excuse me…"

I side-stepped them and walked back onto the stage.


	13. Whose Is This Voice You Hear?

Angel of Music

Chapter Thirteen: Whose Is This Voice You Hear?

For tonight's performance, we began the second act. Joseph met me on stage behind the closed curtains to begin the scene where Christine and Raul reunited after many years of being apart after childhood—they would meet in her dressing room. I sat down in a chair in front of a mirror on stage. Because the curtains were still drawn, Joseph didn't stride toward his place at the edge of the stage floor where he would come in to start the scene. I found his close vicinity to me to be unnerving; even when I gazed at my reflection in the small vanity mirror, I could see my anxiety; and so could he.

"You're exceptionally slippery tonight, pet," Joseph remarked as he placed a hand on my shoulder. "I have been meaning to speak to you since you _punched_ me in the hallway; our conversation isn't over."

"By all accounts, it is." I shoved his hand off my shoulder. He smirked at me in the mirror.

"I never lose, Harper. I always win...one way or another."

"In this case, Joseph, I _highly_ advise you to let this _go,_" I whispered.

"You can't avoid me all night, pet."

I shook my head, irritated.

"I told you more than once to never call me that."

"Does your fuck boy call you that?"

The temperature of my cheeks and neck flushed as he spat his provocative remark into my ear; and I was about to respond until Darren's demanding voice caught the two of us off guard,

"_Joseph, get to your place!"_

Joseph straightened almost automatically, but he glanced at me surreptitiously. He smiled at Darren to calm the producer's patience. Through his fakest grin, he lowered his head to my shoulder and whispered through his clenched teeth,

"We'll speak again, my little Christine."

"I'm not your Christine," I hissed.

He didn't reply, but he gave me a look that relayed contempt for my little remark. He strode to the edge of the stage floor where he would emerge upon the opening scene. The curtains parted. On the stage, many vases of flowers covered the floor. It made the opening act very comfortable; yet in my white dress and warm atmosphere, I felt the stinging glare of Joseph on the other side of the stage.

It unnerved me.

By the script, I brushed my hair passively as I gazed at myself in the mirror. Then there was the sound of the door opening and closing, and Joseph strode toward center stage where the audience could see him. Our play's Raul beamed at me from the reflection of the mirror. Joseph's talent masked all of what had happened beforehand, and he actually looked pleased to see me. In his hand, he carried a bouquet of flowers.

His first lines greeted me with tenderness and nostalgic reminiscence, to which I responded with cheerful recollection: two childhood sweethearts to be reunited in a single room…

"Little Lottie, let her mind wander," said Joseph fluently as he slowly approached me. "Little Lottie thought: 'Am I fonder of dolls or of goblins or shoes?"

"Raul." I said his name as Christine had with joy and happiness.

"Or of riddles of frocks?" Joseph continued with a grin.

"Those picnics in the attic?" I replied. I turned in my chair to face Joseph, who politely handed me a variety bouquet from his hands.

He stepped toward me and handed me the bouquet of flowers.

"Or of chocolates…?"

"Father playing the violin…?" He knelt down on one knee to gaze at me eye level.

Joseph continued our relay from the script,

"As we reach to each other dark stories of the North…?"

"No," I said with a smile. "What I love best, Lottie said, is when I'm asleep in my bed; and the Angel of Music sings songs in my head."

Joseph's voice sung a gentle tenor; it generously chorused with mine…

"_The Angel of Music sings songs in my head…"_

"Hm…yes." Joseph raised a hand to my face and gently caressed my cheek with the back of his hand.

I mustered a smile to accommodate Christine's love for Raul; but it was the hardest portrayal of joy that I had ever had to conjure. Joseph smirked at me for a brief second as he passed a hand along my face.

"Oh, you're so like an angel tonight." Joseph remarked.

"Father said, 'When I'm in heaven, child, I will send the Angel of Music to you'. Well, Father is dead, Raul. And I _have_ been visited by the Angel of Music."

"Oh, no doubt of it—and now we'll go to supper!"

Joseph rose to his feet and made to grab my hand; I pulled back.

"No, Raul, the Angel of Music is very strict."

"Well, I shan't keep you up late!"

"Raul, no."

"You must change. I'll order my carriage. Two minutes, Little Lotte."

"No, Raul, wait!"

Joseph wandered off stage, and I was left on the stage alone.

Then the curtains drew.

I stayed seated. The third act was about to begin; and Mark Bane stepped onto the stage. Mark was fully outfitted as the Phantom of the Opera: white mask, black cape, and a three-piece suit. He glanced behind him at Joseph swiftly. Joseph and Mark exchanged glances; then Mark strode toward me.

"You look beautiful," Mark greeted me.

"So do you, mystery guest," I replied, smiling.

Mark set a hand on his half-mask and blushed,

"Oh, the mask. Right…"

He pried it off his face. Mark was handsome, but he didn't flaunt his features like Joseph Monarch. He was a humble man and a terrific singer; and perhaps that made him a gallant actor to play the part of Erik. Mark's sincere blush vanished when he peeked over his shoulder to see Joseph watching us. He turned to face me.

"What's going on between you and him? There's a lot of friction back stage."

"Nothing is going on…" I remarked.

"Are you sure, Harper? I know great acting when I see it, and you were strongly trying to cover the urge to punch him in the face again during that scene just now."

"_Nothing_ is wrong." I replied.

"I don't want to pry." Mark's voice dropped an octave and he leaned in to speak to me softly. "_I don't trust him. He's too boisterous, and he's too narcissistic to sincerely care for anyone but himself. You need to watch your back, or he'll have you on it."_

"What is that supposed to mean?" I asked quietly.

Mark didn't answer, but his eyes searched mine.

"Joseph is not a man to be trifled with, Harper…" said Mark gently. "Just be careful."

I nodded slowly.

"All right, I will." I answered calmly.

He nodded too; then he leaned forward and kissed me sweetly on the cheek.

"All right, I have to get in my place. Oh! Can you put this back on me? I forgot how it goes on." Mark handed me his white mask.

"Sure."

When I steadied the mask along his jaw bone, Mark snapped his jaws. It startled me and I pulled back. He laughed.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I couldn't resist."

"You _ass…"_

"Sorry; you're just so jumpy."

When I properly located his mask onto his face, he smiled.

"Thanks, Christine."

He patted me hard on my shoulder and wandered to right stage.

When the curtains opened to show the third act, I rose to my feet. Around me, the candles and the lights dimmed like in the film. I turned to leave. Then I heard Mark's booming vibrato thunder throughout the entire theater—

The audience turned in their seats. They searched desperately to find Mark, yet the darkness evaded their chances.

"_INSOLENT BOY, THIS SLAVE OF FASHION,_

_BASKING IN YOUR GLORY._

_IGNORANT YOUTH, THIS BRAVE YOUNG SUITOR,_

_SHARING IN MY TRIUMPH!"_

In script and character, I answered his call,

"_Angel, I hear you,_

_Speak, I listen._

_Stand by my side,_

_Guide me._

_Angel, my soul was weak,_

_Forgive me._

_Enter at last,_

_Master."_

I peered to the upper balcony where I had seen Loki beforehand. He was there again, seated amongst the audience as I had expected. He was watching me, again, with a deliberated expression. I smiled to myself with the same pride that swelled in me the other night. _What does Christine call Erik? Master…_

Mark's deliberate voice replied to mine in a gentler baritone,

"_Flattering child, you shall know me…_

_See why in shadow, I hide._

_Look at your face in the mirror,_

_I am there…in…SIDE!"_

The mirror in question was elongated for the special effect. Swirling mists from the fog machine back stage covered the stage floor. The full body mirror had been covered by a reflective aluminum; Mark reached around and pulled it off to accompany his appearance to the audience. On cue, I turned to face him. He offered his hand out to me through the frame; upon reaching out my own, I sang to him,

"_Angel of Music,_

_Guide and Guardian,_

_Grant to me your glory._

_Angel of Music,_

_Hide no longer._

_Come to me,_

_Strange Angel."_

"_I am your Angel of Music…"_ Mark's baritone dropped to a low register, domineering and gentle simultaneously. It was almost hypnotic. "_Come_ _to me, Angel of Music. I am your Angel of Music. _Come_ to me, Angel of Music…"_

He took my hand in his and brought me through the frame.

Several stage hands appeared on stage to shuffle the mirror and the vanity off stage. They shuffled several items around to make it more appealing to the audience that now Christine and the Phantom of the Opera were heading down to his lair. The mist around us sheltered most of the stage. During the loud music interlude, Mark smirked at me as he led me to center stage. He was enjoying the performance as much as the audience was.

I glanced to the balcony where Loki's emerald gaze met mine. In my peripheral vision, Mark followed my gaze, but he couldn't identify at whom was earning my affectionate attention. Mark squeezed my hand as the music lowered.

I sang my opening line of our next song,

"_In sleep, he sang to me._

_In dreams, he came…_

_That voice which calls to me…_

_And speaks my name…"_

I thought of Loki, and even then, I heard the breathiest call in my mind—it startled and pleasured me all the same…_Harper…_ I glanced at the balcony again and Loki was smirking widely at me. He was interfering in my performance, yet I could only smile. Mark pulled my fingers to bring me out of my reverie. Mark gave me a peculiar look, much like the one that Lauren had given me when I had been singing as well.

"_And do I dream again,_

_For now I find…_

_The Phantom of the Opera is there…_

_Inside my mind…"_

Mark pulled me close as we started to cross the stage.

"_Sing once again with me,_

_Our strange duet._

_My power over you,_

_Grows stronger yet._

_And though you turn from me,_

_To glance behind,_

_The Phantom of the Opera is there…_

_Inside your mind…"_

Mark led me to an open hole in the stage, a seated boat. He helped me into the small stools. A stage hand handed Mark a paddle; he mimed rowing.

"_Those who have seen your face_

_Draw back in fear._

_I am the mask you wear…"_

"_It's me they hear,"_ Mark sang lowly.

"_And in this labyrinth, where night is blind…_

_The Phantom of the Opera is there,_

_Inside my mind!"_

"_He's there, the phantom of the opera…"_

"_Sing, my Angel of Music."_

"_He's here, the Phantom of the opera!"_

I took the deepest breath that I could make and belted out the highest notes that I had ever sang in my life. Mark's chorus marveled in encouraging notes…

"_Sing, my Angel of Music…_

_Sing…_

_SING FOR ME!"_

Upon the "boat" rocking against the "shore" of the phantom's lair, the curtains slowly drew; and that ended our act three for tonight. There was a roar of applause from behind the curtain and positive rousing calls from the audience. Mark helped me to my feet.

"Harper, you're distracted."

"I'm fine."

"You said that you're fine; but you're not fine. You won't say why. I know that line."

I smiled.

"Mark, there is _nothing_ wrong with me."

"You were lost again, staring out up there in the balcony."

I shrugged.

"I was lost in the moment."

"Harper—"

"There is _nothing_ wrong with me." I repeated firmly. "I appreciate the concern…from _everyone._ But there is nothing wrong. Now, if you excuse me, I have to go."

I strode off the stage.

A hand caught me by the arm and Joseph pulled me off to the side.

"We're not finished yet."

"As a matter of fact, we are." I pried his fingers from my elbow.

"You still owe me."

"I owe you nothing."

"Harper, I swear to God, I'll—"

"You'll do what, Joseph?" I cut him off savagely. "What _will_ you do?"

He stared at me angrily.

I leaned forward and hissed,

"What _can_ you do?"

He gritted his teeth. I smirked and left him against the wall.


	14. The Point of No Return

Angel of Music

Chapter Fourteen: The Point of No Return

I returned home and closed and locked the door behind me. Mark's warning about Joseph had me spooked when I had been walking up my drive way, and I wasn't taking the risk of being caught in the dead of night with a walking hard-on like Joseph creeping up in my midst. My hands were sweaty, and they slipped clumsily along the side of the door to securely turn the dead lock and connect the chain. I slid my hand along the wall to find the lights; I realized that I still didn't feel safe in my house. My stomach tossed, and I was paranoid.

When the lights flicked on, I was aware that anyone could have snuck upstairs to my bedroom; or he could be waiting for me in the kitchen.

"Harper."

"AHH!"

I had screamed at the top of my lungs when a voice hissed my name in the silence of my living room. I palmed the closest thing to me, which happened to be a silver candlestick; and I whirled around to hit the intruder across the head. A strong hand caught me by the wrist.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk…" Loki gave me a warm smile.

His green eyes glanced at the candlestick in my hands.

Had I been able to carry through my assault, I would have swung my weapon clear across his face. Even if he hadn't counteracted my attack, it probably would've given him a mere scratch. Had he been Joseph, I might have knocked him unconscious.

Loki's fingers around my wrist loosened; with his unoccupied hand, he pried the silver candlestick from my hand and placed it back on the mantle beside the door. At first, I realized that I had become breathless from fright and anxiety. Loki smiled at me with a subtle condolence of what had transpired between us. I uttered a breath of relief.

"You're certainly paranoid tonight, Harper." Loki said. He stepped back and turned on his heel to retreat into the living room.

"I thought that you were…someone else." I passed a nervous hand across my forehead. My face was sweaty, and my forehead was hot.

"I know who." Loki glanced at me from over his shoulder. "He haunts you."

"He doesn't have that powerful of an effect on me."

"You almost clocked me in the head with a candlestick, Harper." Loki's voice switched from care and acute concern to infuriating condescension. Even when Loki said my name, which usually turned my stomach in the most pleasurable of ways, had been twisted with a low, cynical register.

His discriminate distaste for Joseph hadn't waivered, even after I had disclosed my request for him to let him be. I feared that after Mark's warning and Joseph's provocative threats, Loki would take matters into his own hands. I didn't know the extending circumstances of how protective Loki could become. In that reference, I didn't know if he would become overprotective of me: in the logic that I was technically his property since I was his mistress or perhaps that he saw me as something higher than a sex slave.

Either way, Joseph was coming tantalizingly close to pushing whatever buttons that made Loki a savage beast. It was this that had me nervous, not Joseph's threatening behavior.

Loki sat down in the leather armchair. His hands shifted over the comfortable edges of the large arms as if he was observing the nature of his newfound love for the seat. In some manner, it looked like he adopted the armchair as a Midgardian throne.

I was pulled out of my thoughts when his eyes met mine.

"Are you going to stand there all night, Harper?"

"I'm…thinking."

"I know." Loki smiled. "I can hear you."

"Sorry." I muttered.

"Don't apologize," said Loki with a slight shrug. He beckoned me with two fingers, "Come to me, pet."

I glanced at the door uncertainly. I wondered that if I stepped away from it, would it fly open with an angry, lust-crazed Joseph trying to pry through the locked chain. I believed that as long as I stayed leaned against it, there would no maniac waiting to claim me for his own. Then again, my master called for me to step aside; this alone made me nervous.

"Harper, did you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Then what is the delay?"

I heard the smallest slight of irritation in his voice, and he needn't to say it again.

I pushed myself off the door to walk to Loki. When I was in arm's length, he reached out to me and took hold of my waist. He parted his legs to where I could stand comfortably in front of him without having the fear of falling on top of him. I could feel his fingers toy with the fabric of my long sleeve shirt. His eyes peered up at me from his seat in the armchair.

"Sit."

I set a knee on the arm of the chair and straddled his legs. Even when I seated myself upon his lap, I could feel him beneath me. He wasn't hardened, but the fact that he was there made my stomach turn excitedly. I was unbalanced for a swift minute, so I used his shoulders for support.

"Your mind is racing, Harper, but it is not because of me."

"I'm fine."

"How many times have you used that pathetic line today, pet?" asked Loki passively. "You may lie to your co-workers; you may convince them that everything is '_fine_'. That boy _frightens_ you..." He seized my chin with a hand. "Doesn't he?"

"All right, yes." I admitted.

"All you have to do is ask."

"I don't want you to hurt him."

"My mistress is _so_ forgiving." Loki muttered, watching me. "Lest she be vexed."

"Please, Loki." I said his name without regard of any arousal, and it seemed to haunt me with trepid anticipation. Upon saying his name, Loki looked at me with curiosity. It was stated without any note of intent or pleasure. It was my way to pressure my seriousness for how I felt about him attempting to take matters into his own hands. Not now…not yet.

"Please?" I said quietly.

"Why are do you tolerate the mortal, Harper? Why, even after his threat?"

"He doesn't know how to accept his own rejection. He intends to have his way. Joseph is a confused man; he knows not what he does."

"He knows not what he does…?"

He scoffed at me.

"Harper, stand up."

I slid off his lap and rose to my feet. He rose to his feet as well.

"Turn."

I looked at him hesitantly.

"Harper, turn around."

I reluctantly obeyed.

From behind me, I heard a soft shriek of metal on metal; and then I felt the coldest sensation touch me just underneath the jaw bone. Loki's arm wrapped around my waist none too gently, and his mouth fell upon the shell of my ear.

"Here is your ignorance, Harper. Men _know_ what they do."

The cold feeling underneath my jaw bone slid properly against my face, but it never injured me. My stomach tumbled in fear. It was a silver dagger. He held it against my neck. I reached up to pull it away from me.

Loki's hand around my waist flew up to my face; he seized my hands in his and held them steady against my chest. I made a frightened squeal as he poised the knife against my neck. Loki turned me around to face him, yet he still held my hands at rest; and the dagger in his hand steadied readily against my cheek.

"Men know what they do. Every single man knows the consequences of their actions; and you want to believe that this mortal is any different? He is a weak heartbeat, but he'll throttle your noble intentions when you grant him the benefit of the doubt."

"Why are you threatening me?" I demanded.

"If I am not from your Realm, and _I _can threaten you, what makes you think that one of your own is any different?"

"He's consumed by lust," I remarked.

Loki gave a devious chuckle. He lowered his face to mine and whispered,

"And am I not?"

I had no answer to that.

"I am only a simple thing," I said quietly.

"Is that really how you think of yourself?" asked Loki in a low register.

"Until you interfered in my life, I thought that that is what I was." I said. "Even now, you hold me against my will; you threaten me…with that…" I nodded my head to the knife in his hand. "If you can threaten me like a rag doll, how am I to think that you're not like the other men in my world?"

Loki released me and sheathed his dagger. He shook his head.

"There are no men like me." Loki remarked.

He gave me a look of consideration.

"Do you really think of yourself as a simple human being, Harper?"

"Humans aren't difficult." I answered.

"And what made you come to this conclusion, pet?" Loki asked me. "Was it from studying Belinda or Lauren? Or perhaps your dearest friend, Mark?"

"You came to Earth to dominate it as a king, My Lord," I said. I heard the coldness in my voice. "Surely, since you know about the ways of the world, you would choose the most inferior of the races that most likely exist in _your_ world."

"If I thought that mortals were inferior, I would have slaughtered them all with my bare hands."

"But you _do_ consider yourself above us, don't you?"

Loki gave me a cold smile.

"Are you trying to psychoanalyze me, Harper?"

"I just want to know your purpose." I said carefully. "You have unlimited power, My Lord. Why use them to dominate a race that slaughters each other in droves without your help?"

Loki's smile warmed to amusement.

"You're not a simple as you think that you are, my pet." Loki remarked.

I took that as a compliment; and perhaps I was onto something. Loki approached me. Before anything else could be said between us, there was a firm knock on the door. Loki's eyes left mine, and they flickered to the door with certain unrest. He looked at me.

"Were you expecting company tonight, Harper?"

"No."

"Answer it."

"But—"

"You shouldn't keep your nighttime guests waiting, pet. Answer it."

I stepped away from Loki. I unlocked the door, remembering to keep the chain locked. When I opened it, I was immediately roused with anxiety and fear.

"Evening, pet." Joseph greeted me with a smile.

I glanced over my shoulder. Loki was gone; but I knew that somewhere he was still inside my house. Joseph peeked over my shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "Am I interrupting?"

"Joseph, you need to leave." I urged him.

"What, without giving you a rightful apology? That would be rude."

"I'm afraid that you've already by-passed nighttime niceties, Joseph."

He looked wounded. Joseph held out a bouquet of flowers.

"Look, Harper, I'm sorry. I was way out of line. I should've backed off a long time ago. Lauren knows about us."

"_There wasn't any 'us'!" _I remarked angrily.

Joseph motioned for me to quieten down.

"Shh, shh. I know. I know. I meant what I've been saying. Lauren found out, and she was pissed off. She told me to come here straight after work and apologize. So it's after work; and here I am."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but it's fine." I said anxiously.

"Look, I don't want to talk to you through the door. Can I come in? Please?"

"It's not a good idea."

"Harper, please?"

I scorned myself. I nodded and recanted. He seemed to be really sincere. So I closed the door for a minute and unchained the security measures. When I opened it all the way, I stepped aside to allow him access. Joseph strode in comfortably and then I closed the door.

He handed me the bouquet.

"These are for you."

"Are these from the set?" I asked.

"No, I picked them out on my way here."

"Oh…thank you."

It was awkward with him being in my house. He looked around with exceptional amusement.

"Wow, you really have good taste."

"Thank you."

"Such exquisite detail. Not a thing out of place. Are you OCD?"

"No."

"Wow, nice mantle." He strode toward the fireplace. "No pictures?"

"I'm a recluse."

"Yeah, I can see why. You have to love the life of solitude. However," Joseph turned to me and smirked, "it appears that you don't dine alone."

He fingered the two glasses that Loki had procured from last night.

"Your beau has got a bit of a taste for the luxury life." Joseph glanced at the bottle of wine that had been sitting beside the wine glasses. "I don't think that I have ever seen this in Kentucky. Is it imported?"

"You can say that…" I shrugged.

Joseph approached me.

"You know, you could have told me a long time ago that you were seeing somebody. Why didn't you?"

"It wasn't your business."

"Ooh, that hurts."

Joseph stood a foot in front of me.

"I don't flaunt my love life like Lauren," I remarked unsteadily.

"No. You don't. There isn't anything to flaunt about Lauren. She's a dull dud."

"But she certainly knows how to tell you to come to my house and apologize," I muttered.

"Actually, she's still at the stage. She doesn't know that I'm here."

"Why didn't you tell her where you were going?"

"It's none of her business."

The tension in the air had started to build the moment that he had come into my house; and now it was almost unbearable. My stomach turned and turned in unconventional circles. My chest tightened with unmeasurable discomfort. Just over Joseph's shoulder, Loki stood behind him.

Loki's expression was of strong dislike. It frightened me and aroused me at the same time. Joseph's brow furrowed. He turned his head to find the attention of my gaze, but he looked straight through Loki. While Joseph saw nothing, Loki stared directly at him. I would have crumpled under his penetrating stare.

"Just give me the word, Harper." Loki said coldly.

"No." I said aloud.

Joseph's eyes returned to me.

"No? No, what?"

"No…you should never have left her by herself," I invented quickly.

Joseph chuckled,

"Harper, I wanted to see you. I really _was_ rude at the theater. It was uncandid of me to think that you would ever come on to me at work."

I stared at him. He approached another step, and I stepped back.

"Then I realized," Joseph continued, "that perhaps I would be more appealing if we were in a proper setting."

Loki's eyes narrowed.

"Harper." Loki's voice rested on insistence.

"No, not yet," I said aloud.

Joseph chuckled.

"Not yet, dear? So there will be a time when you will come to me?"

I turned to Joseph and backed up a few more paces.

"Joseph, listen to me. Whatever you're planning, whatever you're thinking, this will be very harmful to you."

"Why, is your boyfriend going to stop me?"

Loki hissed,

"Oh, just say the word…"

Joseph caught me by the arm and pulled me to him. Then his hand fell to the hem of my shirt.

"Harper," said Joseph, "you just need to, for once in your life, _relax. _I can give that to you."

He slipped a hand underneath my shirt and found my breast—I pulled away. Joseph grabbed my waist and forced me to the floor; he fell on top of me.

"Joseph, no!"

I screamed, and Joseph put a hand on my mouth to silence me.

I felt my jeans come undone. My screaming was muffled.

Then my jeans flew off. I felt a clammy hand pry my underwear and then—

Joseph's body left mine. Tears had fallen down my face. I looked up, thinking that maybe Joseph had come to his senses. Yet I was ever more liberated when I looked up to see that Loki had grabbed Joseph around the throat; Loki had Joseph pinned to the wall.

I staggered to my feet, bereft of my jeans.

Joseph's eyes widened with terror; his legs kicked against the wall, for his feet didn't even touch the floor. Loki's hand around Joseph's throat tightened. My master's eyes smoldered in fury, and his breathing was slow and heavy.

"Say the word, Harper," Loki breathed darkly. "Say it. I'll do it."

Joseph's eyes glanced at me apologetically.

"Loki, please...no."

"You will have him spared?" Loki's voice was cynical disgust. "Fine. You've let your decision to me. My punishment won't be so forgiving."

"No, no," Joseph cried out. "I'm sorry. Please, don't kill me."

"I said that my punishment wouldn't be so forgiving," Loki said coldly, staring at Joseph. "Death is relief. This, you will feel."

Then Loki unsheathed the silver dagger that he had threatened me with earlier, and he took a clean stab just underneath Joseph's navel. Joseph cried out in pain. Loki's hand left his throat and Joseph fell unceremoniously to the floor. Blood spurted from the wounded groin of Joseph's body. I fell to my knees at Joseph's side. He was screaming in agony.

I looked up at Loki to see him gazing down at me.

"I told you to make your decision of our little bargain, Harper; you hesitated." He gestured to Joseph. "Now, look at him."

"If you have any bit of heart," I said to Loki, "you'll kill him. Look at him? He's in agony."

"Would you have had it his way and allow him to take what isn't his?"

"He wouldn't have done it…"

"HE WOULDN'T HAVE DONE IT?"

Loki's voice roared in frustration. He took my shoulder and pushed me away from Joseph. I winced as Loki approached me; he towered over me with a bloody dagger in his hand, and he was rejuvenated with renewed fury.

"He assaulted you! He took off your clothes! You still defend him, Harper."

While we argued, Joseph whimpered as he started to hemorrhage blood.

"You didn't have to do this…You didn't…" I whimpered as I glanced at Joseph weakly. "You could've stopped him without doing _that."_

"What less would he have learned from it, Harper? He should never touch what belongs to another man, pet." Loki lowered himself to me, where I cowered on my back. He held the bloodied knife to my neck. I could smell the blood. "I do not share what is mine, Harper."

Then without glancing at his target, Loki threw the dagger with deadly accuracy and it struck home into Joseph's head. Joseph cradled to sweet relief and collapsed onto my living room floor, motionless.

Dead.


	15. Fear Can Turn to Love

Angel of Music

Chapter Fifteen: Fear Can Turn to Love

My face was buried several inches into the toilet bowl. As another wave of nausea shot through my body, I braced myself for another destructive wretch; my hands weakly held onto the bowl's edges as I felt the remnants of my dinner fight nature and spill out of my mouth. The fifth hurl stung my throat, and I uttered a tiny sob of disgust. My stomach cramped with queasiness; my throat was raw from the non-stop retching. My palms were slick with sweat; my knuckles were pale white.

I pulled my head out of the toilet bowl and looked to my left. I could see inside my living room from where I was seated. Loki was bent over Joseph's mangled corpse. There was a large puddle of dark, red blood pooled under Joseph's body; Loki was observing it like a specific science. He made a small sigh, but I couldn't see his expression. His back was to me.

"He would have recovered from his injuries."

Loki's voice was loud in the living room, too loud for personal monologue; so I knew that he was speaking to me. If it was unclear, Loki's back shifted as he turned to look at me while he was squatted down on his ankles.

"You shouldn't blame yourself," said Loki.

I made a pained expression.

"I didn't want you to hurt him…" I muttered weakly.

My voice was hoarse from my severe vomiting. I was weak. My entire body was shaking; I was sweating, and I could feel my body flashing with waves of indiscriminate heat.

I must have looked and sounded as bad as I had felt, for Loki rose to his feet and strode toward me into the bathroom. He knelt down beside me, perched on his ankles, so he still towered over me while I slumped on my legs. Loki reached a hand out to my face. I felt my matted, brunette hair slowly prick off the wet sides of my face. His fingers pulled my hair off my neck, which was where his hand rested after a half minute.

"I didn't want you to hurt him," I repeated; then I smiled. "But I'm happy that you did."

"You're not happy. You're relieved. And now you're frightened…" He rose to his feet. "If you were cheerful, you wouldn't be throwing the last 12 hours into that bowl."

He made a soft sigh.

"Stand up, Harper. Your problems won't disappear by wallowing in sweat and foul."

"What do we do with him?" I asked. I glanced at Joseph's body wearily.

"What would _you_ do with a corpse?"

"Hide him…" I shrugged.

"Where?"

"Anywhere."

"You're a terrible night watchman, Harper."

He directed me to follow him out of the bathroom.

Three days…

I had known him for three days. So far, he had de-vocalized my female co-worker; he had killed a second. Now my executive producers were beginning to think that I was having delusions or that I was in with the wrong people. My entire world was flipped upside-down. Now I was trying to figure out where the hell I was going to hide the body of Joseph Monarch: a body that had a mangled groin and had a hole stuck in his face.

I struggled to my feet to gain some support. Loki apparently dealt with his problems face first. However, I felt my stomach clench with another wave of nausea as Loki bent down to grab Joseph's arms. He shuffled Joseph's body like a bag of meat: he had _no_ problem dealing with dead people apparently. Joseph's legs were limp in the blood, and as Loki effortlessly led Joseph's body, the pool of blood waded and ran to either side of the living room. I fell against the wall, sickened. I was horrified to see Loki pulling Joseph into the bathroom.

"Stay against the wall, Darling." Loki glanced at me. "I don't want to get his blood on your clothes."

I watched Loki bend down to pick up Joseph bridal style. Joseph was well-built and must have weighed over 200 pounds; it would take more than one to lift such a man anywhere. However, Loki's strength was more pronounced than any mortal man; he picked up Joseph with little strain. He stepped by me and tossed Joseph's mangled corpse into the bath tub.

I feared what would come after this.

"Loki, what are you doing?" I asked quietly…fearfully.

"Do you want to get rid of his body or not, Harper?" remarked Loki patiently.

I watched him sit down on the edge of the bath tub. He withdrew the silver dagger from the folds underneath his metal armor; from a leather sheath, the dagger gleamed menacingly in the bathroom's fluorescent lights.

"Yes." I answered. "Yes, I do."

"Then you must do what is necessary. _This_"—Loki gripped the silver dagger in his hand with precision, leaned into the tub, and emotionlessly sliced off Joseph's right hand—"is necessary."

I squealed in horror and pulled away.

"Oh my god, what are you doing?"

"Your authority figures will suspect that you are his murderer," said Loki patiently. He tossed Joseph's dismembered hand into Joseph's lap. I stared at him, mortified. "I have no intention of having that burden fall onto your shoulders. They will search for a body."

Loki turned to the corpse sitting in my bath tub. He leaned into the tub, picked up Joseph's dead hand, and sliced off the fingers. The bone cracked and crunched as his dagger slid through the marrow.

"Loki, please. Stop what you're doing."

"You need to relax, Harper."

"This is wrong. This is sick." I muttered. "I can't watch this."

"What if I told you that I wanted you to watch?" said Loki quietly.

"Please, My Lord. Just bury him. Toss him. Anything. Just…" I felt my face flush in rejuvenated horror as Loki leaned into the bath tub and sliced off Joseph's other hand. "Stop doing that…"

"I'm only doing this to protect my mistress," remarked Loki easily. "Would you like to be punished by the authorities?"

"No," I breathed.

"Then this must be."

Loki considered my expression momentarily.

"Here, Harper." He tossed the knife in his hand and caught the blade between three fingers. He offered me the handle. "Take it."

"Loki, no…"

"I didn't ask."

I stared at him in disgust.

"Remember the last time that you let me make your decision for you."

I felt a small sob leave my mouth. His voice was not warm. It wasn't compassionate or caring. He threatened me with a subtle penetration in his eyes. I looked at Joseph's body with uncertainty but I realized that my hands were tied. I reluctantly took his offered blade. My fingers passed his, and the creepiest arousal filtered from my lower belly to between my legs.

I glanced at the dagger in his hand; and I saw his lower profile gaze at me. The underside of his chin and his jaw line were prominent in the reflection.

"Go on, Harper."

Loki scooted against the left side of the bath tub. He allowed me generous room on the edge, but I found it uncomfortable to lean forward at an awkward angle. I feared that I would slip and fall into a corpse's dead lap. So instead, I knelt down against the outer wall of the tub. I looked up at Loki, who smiled slightly.

I found Joseph's arm and poised the dagger at the crease of his elbow. His flesh was cold. I could even _feel_ that he was no longer living. Joseph's eyes were closed. He didn't look like he was asleep. It wasn't like the movies. Dead people actually looked dead. They didn't look like they were at peace.

I braced myself with a sharp breath, and slid the dagger forward. The dagger sliced through flesh like butter. It was easier when the blade slipped through the bone like sliced bread; there was a horrible crack as the knife penetrated the bone's outer layer. Then Joseph's arm lopped off, and I was holding it in my limp hand.

Although disgust haunted my mind, I was keenly aware that the action was almost therapeutic. A stronger disgust pooled in my conscious when I found it arousing that Loki was watching me cut up Joseph into manageable pieces. So I moved higher with the blade at Joseph's other arm and sliced through that as well.

I once felt this adrenaline rush before. It was in high school where I had to dissect a frog. At first, it was scientific fascination. After the exams and the tests, I had dug into the frog's backside with a scalpel only to exact curiosity and a lust that hadn't been exemplified through mature video games or passionate throw-paint.

This was the same situation. At first, it was fearful anticipation. Then it was relief and passion…

"It's called blood lust." Loki said quietly.

He read my mind. I glanced at him.

"It's a primal instinct in all Man. The manner of the man does not matter: gods, Dark Elves, humans…Frost Giants." He made a small smirk on the last race, but he didn't explain. He looked at me thoughtfully. "Blood lust is primal; and it is the first instinct that all of us inhibit. Whether we have the control over our instinct makes us different from carnivores and monsters."

I looked at Joseph's armless body.

"Your worst fear," Loki observed, "is that you would like it."

He gestured to Joseph's corpse and my work.

"Do you?"

I didn't know how to answer.

Loki placed a hand along the nape of my neck. I felt a cold chill stand the hairs of my neck on end, yet a sweet arousal slicked my inner thighs.

"Or do you like the fact that you have an audience?"

His fingers clasped comfortably around the back of my neck; it was firm pressure.

"Or is it the fact that you can give _this_ monster what he deserves?" His eyes indicated Joseph in my bath tub. "Would you like me to take over?"

I shook my head.

"Good girl."

He leaned forward and kissed me fully on the lips; his hand on my neck pulled me into his kiss, and I felt my entire body grow warm with lust.

It disturbed me to believe that even in circumstances so grim and grotesque like a corpse decaying in my bath tub couldn't even perturb Loki's advances. It disturbed me more that I liked it. However, I didn't bother to fight him. Knowing that I enjoying slicing up a dead corpse let go all of my insecurities, so I fell to his whims like that time before.

So I kissed him back.

He pulled me to my feet. His body pressed me up against a wall. He pried the dagger from my hand and absent-mindedly sheathed it into his armored robes. Loki's hand along my neck ascended; a single digit traced my jaw line. His tongue parted my lips and intruded to caress mine. A moan left me. Loki uttered a devious chuckle, and it sent a pleasant shiver through my body.

His mouth left me only to press against the side of my face.

In a low, sultry register, his voice whispered,

"What would your people call me if they knew the truth, my little dove? Would I be a hero?"

His tongue slipped against my jaw. He lightly licked my earlobe. A smile crossed my lips. His voice dropped,

"Or would I be called a murderer?"


	16. The Curtain Falls

Angel of Music

Chapter Sixteen: The Curtain Falls

I never intended to have Joseph murdered; though, as I knelt against the bath tub's bloodied wall, and slowly mangled Joseph's body into manageable pieces limb by limb, it became apparent to me that I had apparently wanted him dead for a long time. I was too frightened to kill him myself; or perhaps, I was cowardly. Loki's ferocious temper that had erupted after I had pleaded that Joseph wouldn't have raped me had made me see that I believed that everyone, even the worst man alive, could have some good in him. Foolishly, I would believe that. If Loki had intervened…

Loki had terrified me while I lay crumpled in a mortified heap, staring at the fire in his eyes before he threw that knife into Joseph's head.

I had been frightened—so very frightened of him—when I realized of the damage that Loki could do to a person. Given his own way, he'd have let Joseph writhe in pain—in agony—until he bled out on the floor. I wondered what had caused Loki to be so sadistic, or if the God of Mischief was born with that inhumane detail. Loki lingered in my house like an airborne malice, full of contempt, but he didn't intend to appropriate whatever anger that he felt toward me. There was fury in him that didn't sleep. He was an Asgardian; perhaps he was something more. I felt that he was keeping secrets from me, but I didn't pry.

While I lay Joseph's decapitated head in the cold lap of his corpse, I wondered what secrets that Loki had to keep from me. Some things didn't add up, and they puzzled me.

He called himself a king, so I assumed that he was the rightful king of Asgard. If he was the king in his Realm, why did he long to be a benevolent god of Midgard when Asgard was his? Was he a tyrant? Was he selfish? Or did my Realm belong to him as well, but he had to fight for it?

Aside from meager politics, I also wondered about Loki on an intimately emotional scale. Was I an asset in Midgard, a simplistic piece of property? Were there other girls that he visited while he wasn't with me, or was the only _Midgardian_ mistress that he had? Did he have others on Asgard? Were there other worlds besides Asgard and mine? Did he have girls on those other worlds as well?

What purpose did he have for me to step into this grotesque horror story? Why did he want me to carve into Joseph? Was that a lesson for me, or was it like a dark, morbid fetish?

I wondered if in all the years that he had lived, had Loki ever found somebody close to a lover? If he did, where was she? If she wasn't alive, what happened to her?

I didn't anticipate all these questions to burden my mind. I would have liked to stay as distanced from prying interrogation as I could—merely, and I knew this was why, because my curiosity landed me in this situation in the first place.

It was I whom questioned who he was on the first night that he spoke to me aloud in my room. It was I whom desired to see what he looked like. Yet, although I believed that it was primarily _my_ fault that I had ended up in the bathroom with my dead co-worker in my tub, I wondered if Loki had secondary fault in this—or, if not worse, that he had planned this all along.

Loki, God of Mischief, God of Lies and Deceit, God of Destruction…

He was a clever man with a head full of schemes and witty ideas.

I was a pawn in his game, but what were we playing? Was it just some grotesque quid pro quo to pass the time? Or did he have bigger plans for me? How long would our game play out, and how long would I be a valuable player? Would there be a time where he would no longer have use of me, and would he lock me up somewhere to die so that I wouldn't tell anyone the truth about Loki?

I was burdened by anxiety and misunderstanding. Confusion made the weight on my shoulders feel unbearable. I realized that I had tensed so badly that a small ache had begun between the crook of my neck and shoulder. I had to relax.

Loki was not in the house; or perhaps he was, and he was watching me.

He could have been reading my mind the entire time.

If he could read my mind, why would he have any doubt that I would stay quiet? I wouldn't whisper a detail about my midnight guest. No, the authorities would either have me locked up for the death of Joseph Monarch, or they would have me sent to bedlam for an acute on-set of Schizophrenia.

If I told_ anybody_ about what has happened to me in the past week, who would believe me? Who would help me? Loki didn't have to worry about me spilling the truth to anyone anytime soon.

Perhaps he knew this all along, and he merely warned me to test me.

Was _all_ of this a test?

Would he entrust me with some grand secret, so he had to see just how much that I could take?

I admit that I had gone a little hysteric in the past 24 hours; but I kept most of my emotions bottled for the better part. I only lost my mind when Loki had punched Joseph's balls with his dagger.

I feared Loki. Of all the concerning and destabilizing emotions that coursed through me at the very moment, I knew for certain that the primary factor for _all_ of them was fear. His power, his authority, his entitled pedestal, and perhaps the way that he looked at me all frightened me; yet, it was unsettling how much that it turned me on.

I was eager to please. Isn't that what a servant did for her master? I suppose that I played my part well; but again, I was fearful of what he might do if I refused.

So I chose Belinda's punishment to spare her; but my decision rendered her distraught and foregone from the world. Death would have been sweeter. I didn't choose to harm Joseph, despite Loki's warning. So he made my decision for me, and he destroyed Joseph's world—then murdered him upon my merciful request. My recant for Joseph disgusted Loki, but I didn't know if it was because of Joseph's nature or if the act of mercy was repulsive all together for My Lord.

Joseph's foot hung in my hand loosely as I took the dagger to his thigh.

_You didn't listen,_ I thought to myself as I gazed down at my dead co-worker. _Why didn't you listen to me?_

I warned him several times. To him, they had been empty threats.

No one believed that I had been fine for the last five days. Ever since I had met Loki, I had been out of sorts from being incredibly nasty to Belinda and Lauren (though they both deserved an ounce of the nastiness) to punching Joseph in the face when he deserved it.

I knew that my normally docile attitude had changed. I was aggressive. I was confrontational. I was arrogant. I didn't think that this was affected by how Loki had come to me that one night. Although Loki terrified me at some points, he made me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world—in Midgard—and _that_ was giving me the confidence to fight the negative crowd. He could be charming, sweet, friendly, and suave like a good-natured host; but in the next second, he could be the mythological incarnate of destruction and chaos that I read him to be. The dynamic duo in Loki was extremely arousing; and it was probably because I had the best of both worlds that I liked him so much.

That was a concern of mine too.

I wondered if I relayed that emotion onto Loki a bit strong. I liked him, but I feared that mere fondness was beginning to develop into something stronger—more dangerous. Our relationship was carnal, and wasn't that the grounds of our business? He would probably feel nothing for me, but could I still feel for him behind the bars of my plight?

Would he have me, still, if I told him that—despite what happened here, or on stage, or what he had done to Joseph—I could love a sadist who would dispose of me like a used rag?

Oh, I was burdened with thought.

I heaved a great sigh and withdrew the blade from Joseph's torso. Because Joseph was a tall man, the tub was starting to get especially crowded; so in order to accommodate his lanky size, I had to turn on the cold water and fill up the tub. His dead limbs had risen from the bottom of the tub to float repulsively upon the water's surface. They had turned a grave gray with early decay. Joseph's decapitated head rested right underneath the tub's faucet, so the cold water ran down his face swiftly; the force made his head do several somersaults in the water. I realized that I had been watching this macabre display for about a minute before I reached over and pushed his head out of the way.

I glanced at my fingers. They had become clammy, cold, and pale.

The only thing left in the tub that wasn't properly carved was Joseph's mutilated crotch, but Loki had done enough damage to it that I didn't have to touch it. There was nothing left to touch. I imagined that Loki's fury for Joseph's attempted rape had done enough damage to Joseph that even if the poor boy had recovered from his injuries, I doubted that he would have wanted to live the rest of his life with a crotch that looked like a cross between a man's protrusion and a woman's smooth mound.

I turned off the water faucet and looked into the tub to see my work.

My stomach turned from nausea.

_Oh, yes, my work…of course._ I stared at it.

I was a sadist in my own right; yet once Loki left the scene, I didn't take much pleasure from whatever _this work_ was. He was right about one thing: I wanted an audience. I wanted him to watch. I wouldn't ever hurt him like he had hurt Joseph. I suppose, though, that it was the damage that I _could_ do was what aroused Loki. It probably had _nothing _to do with dead bodies.

I never read anything about Loki that would suggest that he had an interest in Necrophilia…

I cleared my throat nervously and rose to my feet.

From where Joseph had been carried by Loki into my bathroom, there was a trail of blood that pooled from the living room and then puddled against the side of the bath tub. I had been knelt down in the blood against the tub's wall. It had long since dried on the floor and now it stained my clothes. My hands in the water had easily erased the evidence from my work; but now there was the issue of having Joseph's dismembered corpse floating in the basin.

I glanced into the living room and saw that there was still that trail of blood in there.

I would have to clean that up as well.

This would be the backstage of all the trouble that had been caused behind my closed door. I would be so calm at work, on stage, and applaud my co-workers in the spot light. I would smile and wave. I would come home; but when the curtain fell, when my door would lock behind me, I would clamor over the dead bodies that would appear before me in order to stay in the light.


	17. Behind the Monster

Angel of Music

Chapter Seventeen: Behind the Monster

It was one in the morning when I managed to clean up the pool of dark blood in the living room. I returned to the bathroom to gather Joseph's mangled puzzle pieces into a large, plastic trash bag. It was easier to move than what I had expected, but it still turned my stomach to think that Joseph was in the bag that I slid across my hardwood floors. I went out the back door, in the dead of night, and deposited the bag into the neighborhood dumpster. I locked the door behind me, latched the chain, and turned off my light; then I went upstairs to go to bed.

I undressed and gathered my blood stained clothes, strolled naked into the hallway and walked downstairs to throw my shirt and jeans into the fireplace. I watched the flames engulf the bloodied rags to make certain that the evidence was destroyed. The smell of flesh and rot filled my nostrils as a cloud of smoke began to rise from the fire place. It would dissolve into nothingness by the time morning came, so I walked back upstairs. When I stepped into my bedroom, I closed the door behind me.

"You've done well, pet."

In the darkness, I heard Loki's voice; but I didn't know if he was in the room with me. If he was, I couldn't fight what would happen between us. I felt numb. Apathetic. What I had done in the past few hours would have gored every single nerve inside my body. There wasn't shame.

I was shell-shocked.

"I did what I could." I answered quietly.

I stayed facing the door.

"Yes. You didn't have a choice."

"I didn't." I remarked, affirming his statement.

"What is this monotony in your voice, Harper?"

I turned around to see Loki, who was lying in my bed with the sheets and blanket wrapped seductively around his waist. He was propped up by his elbows, gazing at me with a light, emerald gaze. I was very aware that I was naked in front of him; then I realized that I had undressed with him lying in the bed, and I hadn't even noticed.

"I disposed of the body," I muttered.

I felt no emotion. I could have mistaken myself as a corpse. I could have been dead inside; it was the first time that I didn't feel fear, anger, worry, or happiness. Even when I gazed at Loki, displayed in front of me like a regal king that he was, I didn't even feel submerged with lust. Yes, he was very appealing. Yes, I would comply. I didn't feel that embarrassing flush in my face like before when he had taken me in the living room.

"It was excellent work."

I met his gaze.

I felt one thing. I felt curious.

I stepped toward him, at first with caution; but I approached him as if he were a gentlemanly lover who waited for my first step. Loki's eyes followed me from across the room. At first, they looked me up and down from my neck to my feet—then as I came closer to the bed, Loki's gaze met mine.

"You're not so shy this time." Loki remarked. "Have I brought you out of your timid circle, Harper?"

I smiled slightly, but I wasn't amused.

He gave me a look that wasn't in his character. It was almost confusion.

"Your mind doesn't race," said Loki. "Have you managed to find a way to block me from your thoughts? Or perhaps, you are too numb to procure any of sentimental value."

"I have questions, not mere thoughts." I replied.

Curiosity overwhelmed me as I remembered my racing contemplations in the bathroom when I had dismembered Joseph's body. I felt bold, for I was about to ask him a few of those. Also, the looks that crossed his handsome facial features were beguiling; they were uncharacteristic, but I think that I liked the expression of confusion on a man who thought so highly of himself and so insignificantly of those around him...

Oh, not around him…He believed that he was above us. He hadn't said it. I knew it.

Loki watched me as I placed a knee on the mattress. I climbed in bed beside him. There, beside his naked body, I lay under his piercing gaze.

"Perhaps I haven't broken my pet after all," said Loki out loud.

After a long pause, I gave a great sigh.

"My Lord," I began gently, "I'll do what you ask of me. There is nothing that I will deny you. I just…" I searched for the right words. "I want answers."

"Is that what you want?" asked Loki with a small smile.

"In return for what I did with Joseph," I reworded correctly, "that is what I want."

Loki gave an amused chuckle. He motioned for me to scoot closer to him, to which I gladly obliged. Loki's arms wrapped around me, yet it wasn't the expectant warmth that would have come with a generous enclosure. His hands fell around my waist as he held me against his chest. He held me almost protectively, but I was uncertain if that was his true intention. It could have been security; or, if I should dislike the answers that he gave me, I wouldn't be able to run from him. I wouldn't be able to shield myself from the honest truth—if honesty was what he was going to give me.

His body was warm. I felt his firm muscles along his chest and stomach flex and twitch slightly as he pulled my naked body against his.

It was like I had been brought of my numb catatonic state. I felt my face burn as he wrapped the blankets around my waist. The familiar rush of oncoming arousal flushed along my inner thighs; I was slick as I felt the burn between my legs. My hands came to settle along the line of Loki's shoulders. My head rested on his chest. I could hear his heart beating; I smiled serenely when the original steady rate increased as I, too, held him close.

"Ask." Loki's deep voice vibrated against my ear drum when he spoke.

Lying on top of him, one of my legs casually fell between his. I felt my cheeks burn as I felt the tip of his cock touch my knee. I had to bite my bottom lip to distill a small squeal of excitement.

"I'm not so certain that I want the answers…" I mumbled quietly.

My bold check fell away when he had enclosed me in his arms. Now the questions that I had wanted to ask seemed so vulnerably nosy that I feared that if I asked, it would seem that I was trying to pry—a thing that I _did not want to do_ with Loki. Suddenly, I realized that maybe he kept his secrets from me _because_ I wouldn't want to know the details. I also felt a drop in my stomach when I, too, realized that perhaps he had chuckled like that because I was playing into one of our grotesque games.

Lying this naked and intimate against him, I was haunted and aroused by the idea that our next game was to take place tonight.

"Oh, no, Harper; ask your questions. I'll do my…_absolute_…best to answer them."

"You won't be mad?" I asked softly.

My words were barely above a whisper. I was surprised that I could even annunciate.

"No." Loki answered me.

"You won't hurt me if I ask?"

"No."

"How do I know," I said lightly, "that you will keep that promise?"

"Hm. You're going to have to take my word."

I felt my body start to quiver in pressured anxiety. I was nervous. I was scared.

There wasn't a damn thing that I could do about it either.

"On Asgard," I began tepidly, "are you a prince?"

"Yes." Loki answered.

"Are you the only prince?"

"No."

I felt my jaw clench at the my next question,

"Are you Asgard's king?"

He didn't answer me swiftly like the last two questions. His silence frightened me more than with the dull, toneless voice that he was using to answer me. Quietly, unshaken, but with definite intent in his purpose, Loki's deep voice answered,

"_No_."

I didn't pry into that matter, for I feared that the answer that I would receive would be too horrific if I asked why.

"If Asgard is your Realm, and you are a prince," I continued, "why would you want Midgard? Why Earth?"

"I intend to rule Midgard as a benevolent god."

"There are a few who will resist, My Lord."

"A little resistance is expected." Loki answered.

Then a long pause ensued as I struggled for my next question.

"Do you intend to kill me when you rule Midgard?" I asked softly.

"No," answered Loki.

_Well, that's a relief._

So I moved on.

"Loki…?"

"Yes?"

"When you left Asgard, did you leave…anyone important?"

Loki's silence haunted me again.

He sighed quietly.

"Yes."

"Who?" I muttered.

I looked up at him to see his eyes. He had been staring up at the ceiling as I had been firing these questions at him. His hands around me had loosened a great deal when I had asked "Who?" Loki's face relaxed, and he seemed to be transfixed on the high heavens. I gazed at him, particularly struck by curiosity.

He might have been staring at his homeland.

"Who was she?" I asked timidly.

I feared the answer would be something too personal, but now I was very curious to know who once desired his presence as much as he had desired hers. I had assumed that it was a woman; for in my short life, I had seen that look on men who had lost their lovers in some way, but looked back on their lives together with fondness…and great sadness.

Loki made a small smile. Then his emerald eyes met mine.

"Respectively," remarked Loki, "she was a god among insects."

The way that he spoke about her, the sound of affectionate admiration was refreshing from the condescending tone that he sometimes used with me. Loki might have fallen in love with this woman; and I believed that he had.

"What happened to her?" I asked.

"She was taken from me." Loki said. His meaningful look up at the ceiling smoldered to one of contemptuous recollection. I hesitated to ask any further, but I had started this little questionnaire; and this was our bargain for the night…for now.

"What was her name?"

"Vyperia." Loki answered coldly. "Vyperia Sallerius."

He turned his eyes to the ceiling.

"She was a Goddess," continued Loki tonelessly. "The Goddess of Guardianship, ruled by the oath to watch over the lives of all those who are born to live and born to die. While each God is given a territory, hers were parenthood, fertility, and pregnancy. Vyperia was like a more powerful version of your Mother Theresa…"

"What happened to Vyperia?" I asked delicately.

"I ruled Asgard while my witless brother was banished to your world for his recklessness and cruelty. She stood by my side, faithfully and shamelessly." He glanced at me. "Just like you." Loki's face turned to stone. "I performed a deed that my brother nor my father could ever do; and for that, my throne was taken from me, and I was cast into an abyss, pulled from house and home. Vyperia remained on Asgard."

"Is that why you are here with me?" I asked insecurely. "Am I supposed to replace her?"

"No," said Loki with a mirthless chuckle. "I wouldn't use you so despicably."

I stayed quiet for a minute to absorb his words.

Then, he added,

"Vyperia obeyed me, and she helped me destroy half a race of monsters and dark creatures. It was against her oath; and Odin All-Father, the King of Asgard…" He looked at me. "She was given the axe, punished for treason against her oath as Goddess."

I felt my heart break.

"Loki—" I began softly, but he stopped me from speaking.

"Oh, we're not finished just yet."

He took my waist in a bruising grip and flipped me on my back.

He leaned over as if to kiss me, yet his eyes glimmered with something dark and ominous. Once more, I felt small underneath him; and his eyes penetrated my very soul. I found that I was breathless—both from confusion and from distant arousal.

His hands climbed to the sheets on either side of my shoulders where he trapped me with no place to go.

"Loki, what—?"

"You want answers, Harper." Loki breathed. "Here, I give them to you. Now ask the question that haunts your mind. Say it out loud."

"I don't want to know." I whispered.

_Why did you want to destroy an entire race?_

"Oh, yes, you do, pet." Loki's voice was extraordinarily calm. "I hear your rampant words in your mind, and you crave indulgence. I know that you want to _understand._ Why would you not? Your personality is fraught with curiosity and a means to understand—so _full _of forgiveness and mercy. Well, Harper, here is your chance to understand."

I winced at the tone of condescension in his voice. These weren't compliments. They were salted insults upon a low, grave tone. They hurt me, and he didn't have to raise a hand to me.

"So, Harper, ask your little question? Ask me _why_ I tried to kill an entire race, that race of Jotuns—_Frost Giants."_

I felt my eyes burn, and I could feel that I was on the verge of tears.

I felt so small underneath him. I was petrified, _frozen_ under his stern body.

"Loki, please…" I whispered pleadingly.

"Oh, your little whimpers won't stop our bargain. Thus far, I believe that I have made myself _very_ clear on our trades in and out; but you've hesitated on every single detail in our exchanges. Well, you won't be able to charm your way out of this one; for I think that I've been especially lenient up until now. You wanted answers in return for my demand of Joseph's disposal; here is what you _wanted."_

I made a small cry. He lowered his head where his lips lightly caressed the shell of my ear, where he knew that I would be able to hear him even if he spoke in a ghost of a whisper.

"_Now."_ Loki breathed a deep, gravelly voice that registered in the deepest, burning cores of my body. "_Ask."_

My heart raced with anxiety. My stomach clenched with caution. I feared his answer more than I had all the others. He was scaring me, and he knew that he was doing so. My hands cradled themselves against my chest; perhaps I was trying to calm my palpitating heart beat in attempt to revive the feelings in my limbs that had gone numb again.

"All right, fine…" I conceded tenderly.

Loki raised his head. I wasn't relaxed when I saw a cruel smirk appear on his face at my whimpered resignation.

"Why," I asked reluctantly, "would you want to kill an entire race? The Jotuns…the Frost Giants?"

Loki smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. It was cold as the laugh that followed—snarky and so unbefitting of the previous displays of affection and warmth that he had shown me in intimate situations. The smile showed his teeth; and if it was genuine, I would have melted. Instead, I felt as if I had been injected with rejuvenated shots of fear; and his smile did not comfort me at all.

"I was merely acting in the field of a lie that I was fed my entire life, Harper—that I was born to be a king. Then," said Loki with a scoff, "I was rejected for the great deed that I had tried to perform—seen as a tyrannical thing to do in the eyes of a man who had _slaughtered_ thousands of them himself."

I stared at him, terrified.

How he opened up to me with these facts about Asgard made me feel small. His talk about Asgard made me realize just how much of a God that he was and just as ruthless when he _once_ was king of Asgard. He hadn't ascended the throne yet. He had been cast out from his land, or so he told me.

Even as he spoke, his voice shook with bubbling fury; yet he never raised it to me. It was the angriest yet that I had ever seen him, worse than when Joseph had pounced on me to rape me.

"Loki, you're scaring me."

"That works well for me, then, so it all comes down to fear." Loki hissed. "Are you terrified of me right now, Harper?"

He shook with anger.

"You have a lot to fear about me, my little pet. I certainly have shown you that, haven't I? A Midgardian is so easily frightened, but you do not know what a monster is until you've felt him in your presence. You pretend to be separate, Harper—_different_ from the rest of your squalling peasants, but how different are you?"

I winced as he leaned into settle his lips against my cheek. His words penetrated my very being, and they hurt just as much as the last few.

"_You are arrogant, Harper, but what have you to feel like you are above the licentious crowd?"_ he breathed. "_What gives you empowerment to walk among them as if you are above them?"_

"I don't think that I'm—" I pleaded, but he silenced me with a deliberately cold,

"_Shh!"_

He met my gaze.

"You step into your house," he said. "You come to the gathering room, and you see me; but do you quake with the fear that you feel right now? No. Why is that?"

"You promised not to hurt me…" I said softly. "I—"

His hand seized my throat, but he didn't squeeze. It was enough to pull a frightened squeal from my mouth; and that alone seemed enough.

"Have you become so used to my presence that you don't acknowledge me as your king, Harper?"

I made an incoherent cry…Even _I_ didn't know what I had tried to say. Yet whether I had said articulate sentences or not, Loki's fingers around my throat tightened to silence me once more.

"_Do you call me by my name in your dreams, Harper?"_

I didn't answer.

"When have I ever given you any privilege to address me like one of your peasant friends, Harper? You speak to me as if you have known me all along. You have mistaken my kindness for weakness; well, how should I remedy that? Should I break my promise? Should I instill some discipline by—?"

"You don't have to do this…" I squealed fearfully. My hand seized his wrist that connected his hand to my throat. "Any of this…"

"Do you fear me _now_, Harper?"

"Yes…" I whimpered.

"_No, you don't know fear," _growled Loki.

The skin of his hand began to turn a deep, dark blue. His fingers went from heated warmth to ice cold around my throat. The blue tinge crept up his arms. His waist darkened to such a hue.

"You haven't seen fear yet…"

His entire body was engulfed in the dark ocean blue—dark markings appeared on his body like an ex-terrestrial deity. The blue came upon his face, and his eyes turned dark red. I was taken by surprise at such a metamorphosis; but the display of what should have been monstrous transformation appeared to me as something more of a beautiful mastery.

Apparently, my shell-shocked expression didn't communicate the expectant petrification that he had been anticipating. His fingers around my throat loosened and tightened, flexed by the transformation and by my reaction.

"The lot of them," said Loki with distilled anger, "are monsters. Jotuns."

His breath came out in white mist from the drop of the temperature in the room.

I shook my head, panting by distress.

My breath came out in small stokes of steam like his.

"Do you shake from fear or the cold? This is the appearance of a dark beast, is it not? This is what you fear at night when you are tucked into bed, am I not?"

Although blue skin and red eyes glared down from his position rooted above me, I saw the same expression upon his face. He was shaking with anger. I recognized that look. Loki stared down at me, waiting for a word of acceptance.

"How about now, Harper? Does your mind attempt to fight back that prejudice that hides in your head whenever you see a stranger? You are _just_ like your people, pet. Every one of them…"

"I'm not afraid of the Jotun," I exclaimed boldly, though I shook underneath him, unhinged. "I'm not afraid of it."

Loki's infuriatingly calm voice spoke with malicious intent,

"Then why do you shake, Harper?"

"The Asgardian threatens my life," I whispered, "and that is why I'm afraid."

Loki resolved for a minute.

He lowered his hand from my throat.

"What?"

The blue hue on his skin slowly paled. He returned to his original color. His eyes lightened from the dark crimson to emerald green.

Loki hovered over me, puzzled.

"I'm sorry for what happened to your wife, Vyperia," I said lightly. "I'm sorry that she was taken from you. I'm sorry that your _world_ was taken from you by Odin; and I _never_ intended for you to think that I was above everyone else…or you…"

Loki narrowed his eyes at me.

"But you," I said strongly, "are _not_ a monster."

"I've heard this before from Vyperia, and I believed her. You," said Loki in a low voice, "look at me as if I will stab you in the heart. You tell me so while staring at me with a wide gaze. You fear me even now. You _lie._"

"You're angry." I whispered. "Everyone is allowed to be angry."

"Don't play games with me," Loki warned.

"I don't intend to offend," I remarked. "You must know that."

"Why do you cower beneath me if you do not think that I'm a monster, Harper? Should you lie between your teeth when you speak to me? That's cowardly. Speak plainly, pet."

"I'm not lying. I'm not lying," I tempered quickly, fearing that he would erupt into another rage. "Please."

Loki took a full minute to stare me down. He made a small sigh; then he quietly consented. He pulled away to lie down beside me. I glanced at him, frozen on my back. So quickly, he had become enraged; and now he seemed to be doused by calm breaths.

For the longest time, there was silence between us.

Then I asked,

"Vyperia Sallerius?"

"That was her full name," recalled Loki.

"How long?" I asked curiously. "How long were you and Vyperia together?"

"We were childhood sweethearts."

"How long was that?"

Loki smiled slightly.

"A 1000 years, Harper."

"You were together for a _thousand_ years?" I exclaimed incredulously.

"Hm, yes," Loki said with amusement in his voice.

"Was she beautiful?"

Loki nodded,

"Yes."

"Did you love her?" I asked gently.

"Yes."

"Did she love you?"

Loki turned his head to look at me.

"Would you?" he asked in turn.

I was disarmed by his question.

I smiled pleasantly. Softly, gently, tenderly, I found myself singing in a low voice,

"_Pitiful creature of darkness,_

_What kind of life have you known?_

_God give me courage to show you_

_You are not alone…"_

Loki grinned at me, that warm and enticing release from ear to ear. After the visage of fury that I had seen not but two minutes ago, I felt like there was a cramp letting go. He smiled out of amusement, for I decided to sing instead of answer him directly. Then I supposed that he understood my meaning for singing a few lyrics from the Phantom of the Opera, so he leaned in and kissed me briefly on my lips.

I melted.


	18. For Now We Know

Angel of Music

Chapter Eighteen: For Now We Know

Loki held me close to him as we were huddled together underneath the blanket and sheets. We weren't asleep; we stared up at the ceiling, or at least I did. I was challenged with the idea of acknowledging several things that I hadn't believed could ever be true or ever to happen until a few moments ago:

Loki was "banished" from his homeland, and he had fallen into a precipice—an unknown world—but Loki didn't tell me where he had gone, nor whom did he meet when he had vanished off the face of his Earth.

He had been married to a Goddess, Vyperia Sallerius, whose life was terminated after she had broken an oath that she took from birth. She and Loki had been together for a thousand years; they had been eternally in love, or so he had described the situation to me. Loki mentioned that Vyperia had been an exceptional singer; and I only took note of that because it had been my voice that had attracted him to me in the very beginning, or so he claimed. While others believed that Loki had been a jealous one, Vyperia stood by him; and she ultimately paid the price for her loyalty, yet I thought that she would have gone down fighting since a thousand years of love and friendship couldn't just be tossed aside like a toe rag.

Loki wasn't a true Asgardian; he was a deformed offspring of Frost Giant, whose name was Laufey. Laufey and Loki's adoptive father, Odin All-Father, had gone to war over a powerful Cube called the Tesseract. Laufey's race, the Jotuns, had tried to use the Tesseract to make my planet, Midgard, into another Ice Age. Since this 'courageous' act was harmful to Earth, the Asgardians attacked the Jotuns to return the Nine Realms of Yggradsil to normality and security. When Laufey's men were slaughtered, Laufey surrendered; and after Odin took the Tesseract, the Jotuns fled with several casualties. Left to die on a frozen rock, abandoned because he was not a full-fledged Frost Giant, Odin discovered Loki Laufeyson; and he raised Loki as his own son along with the God of Thunder, Thor Odinson.

Thor had gone against his father's demands and destroyed a 1000-year-old truce between Jotunheim and Asgard, so Odin banished his son until he was proven worthy of the title of King and the love of his own people. Odin fell into the Odinsleep, so with Thor out of the picture, Gungneir was passed to Loki; and Asgard became his. In order to prove his worth to a neglectful father, Loki arranged a malevolent deal that would trick Laufey to enter Asgard, unseen by the Gatekeeper, Heimdall. Laufey's actions were predictable, especially after Vyperia had stepped in and defended Laufey's actions toward Odin—apparently, Vyperia disliked Odin's treatment of the Jotuns as much as Laufey did, so her cunning weighed in to Loki's favor. Laufey entered, and Loki killed him. Thor returned to Asgard by the hero cliché and by winning the love of a mortal woman, a scientist named Jane. Through much disgrace and heart-wrenched details, Loki's plan failed and Odin—instead of being proud and impressed—was disappointed and regretful.

Maybe more than a few minutes passed. Quite possibly, I might have lay in my bed for an hour, staring up at the ceiling, attempting to absorb everything that had transgressed. My eyes were open.

There were eight other worlds aside from my little blue planets…

Elves existed. Dwarves—axe-wielding and heavily-bearded Dwarves—existed. Magic was not an illusion—it was a learned art like painting or sketching. Science and magic co-existed on Asgard like Mathematics and History on my world. Superpowers were not just fairy tales or little interesting details in comic books. Loki was proof of that. He wasn't a scientific experiment gone wrong like the Hulk—or a scientific experiment gone right like Captain America.

Mythological creatures like Fenrir the Wolf and Sleipnir the eight-legged horse were real.

I was blown away when Loki told me that he fathered the Wolf and mind blown when he informed that he mothered Sleipnir. I was surprised because the mythology was actually very accurate—very true. It wasn't a congregation of improbable conjectures or messed up theories—

All of this was _real._

Loki had laid the information down on me within thirty minutes. My interrogation had long ended, but he had leniently graced me with _all_ of what had happened a year ago. Quietly, perhaps on a selfish note, I almost wished that I hadn't asked about him.

All of what he had told me…I had to keep to myself.

Nobody could know that he existed. Nobody could know that Jotunheim, Nifleheim, or Asgard existed. Or perhaps they were known, and the government kept it all hush-hush. If I spoke up and exclaimed that I knew about all of it, I could be locked up for espionage—or perhaps that I was officially mad.

Perhaps I was mad, for I gladly accepted everything that Loki had told me.

Loki made a small sigh.

"Ah, finally…"

"What?" I asked; my voice was low and guttural from the long period of time without speaking to one another.

Loki placed a finger against my right temple, and he said approvingly,

"Your mind is rampant." He made a small chuckle. "Confused, overwhelmed, improbable thoughts jumble in your mortal mind…as it always should be when you lie beside me."

"I am overwhelmed," I said lightly. "If you never knew about the truth about the other eight worlds like me, would you be calm, My Lord?"

"I know nothing different," said Loki. "I've studied your world for a thousand years, Harper. Although the scientific elements are easily understood, I've always questioned the strength of the hearts of mortal women."

He smiled at me, which turned my stomach pleasantly; and I felt my heart race.

"I once was told to never underestimate the strength of women, no matter the race." Loki said. "Harper, you're not much different from the other lust-crazed harlots that prowl this meager world. You long for indulgence and attention, yet not the closeness of an intimate relationship. I can look at you, and I know that you are a closed book; but I can read you, and it isn't that hard."

"Are you studying me?" I asked curiously.

"No. I've already done that. Harper, you do not tiptoe like the people that you surround yourself with everyday. You strut. You're proud. Arrogant. Although your temper flares and your anger will threaten those around you, you will always feel regret and mercy. Why, pet, would you allow yourself to have feelings of guilt toward those who would stomp on you at the first opportunity?"

He asked me that question as if he had exhausted the point to the narrowest of ways. He had, but not with words. My first test had been Belinda; my second, Joseph. My third test had been Loki, who had threatened my life—yet in my eyes, he was still not a monster.

I smiled weakly; I was partially ashamed of how much I could hold on for the humanity of one person, especially if they did not respect mine. With Belinda, she stomped on me. Joseph tried to rape me, yet I spared him. Loki could very well have killed me, and still I only pleaded to him that none of it was necessary.

Forgiveness was not my strength; it was my weakness.

So I answered his question in the best possible way that I could; so I said,

"I have to believe that there is innate good in everybody. People aren't born bad, My Lord," I added gently. "Children learn what they see."

Loki gave me a look that made me momentarily uncomfortable.

"Am I a murderer, Harper?" asked Loki.

I stared at him, uncertain of how to answer.

"That is a lot of hesitation for a 'yes' or 'no' answer, pet."

My mouth hung open with no response.

"I don't know what you are," I muttered after a long pause.

"That's a good answer," said Loki. Then—

"It's a cowardly answer, but a good one," he added with municipal disappointment.

He made another slow sigh as he shifted in bed beside me. He turned to lie on his left side. The muscles in his back flexed as he moved to get comfortable. Loki's voice left me with one last promise before he would fall peacefully asleep,

"You may have enough self-satisfaction to forgive those who do harm onto you, Harper. One day, you will learn that when you selflessly spare your people; and when they learn the true nature of why you spared them, they may not be so forgiving."


	19. See Why In Shadow I Hide

Angel of Music

Chapter Nineteen: See Why In Shadow I Hide

Loki lay on his back in bed. I lay beside him, watching him.

He turned his head to meet my eyes.

"Why do you look at me," he asked calmly, "as if I may combust into flames?"

"I'm waiting for you to fall asleep," I answered honestly.

To that, Loki smiled blankly; I couldn't identify the emotion that displayed such an expression. It didn't unnerve me, nor did it comfort me. He knew, though, that I was being honest; and maybe that's why he smiled.

"Why are you waiting for me to fall asleep?"

"I don't know what you were dreaming about, Sir; and if that nightmare comes back, I want to make sure that I'm not in bed with you whenever that thing takes over like it had done three hours ago."

Loki's brow furrowed, but he didn't say anything. So I did.

"Your eyes changed," I continued, though quieter. I thought that I sounded insane, for perhaps he hadn't even known that he had been possessed. "Your eye color changed when you woke up. Blue."

I heard my voice lower, and I knew that I sounded scared. Loki looked at me with a certain affirmation. At least he knew that I hadn't imagined all of this. I had seen that expression on a few people before; it was the knowing look that a secret had been expunged, and now one wished that it was never exposed.

Loki knew _exactly_ what I was talking about; there was denying it.

"They turned pale, emotionless, absent blue. You were glaring at me, Loki." I shook my head, knowing that it couldn't be impossible. "But it wasn't you."

"Don't worry your pretty head with these innocuous little details," said Loki. Although Loki looked a little pained, his voice was stoic and apathetic. A thousand years of learning how to hide fear in one's voice could perform that sort of trick.

"If you were meant to understand other worldly concepts, I would have told you several days ago," he added.

"You almost killed me," I muttered.

Loki glanced at me with a different expression. For this one, I settled on the idea that he believed that I was going with civil disobedience.

"I have come close before," said Loki casually.

I frowned. I could only have guessed that he was excusing his behavior of late, and I didn't believe that he understood the gravity of what had happened. I had been _terrified_ when I realized that the man who had been strangling me wasn't the same man who shared my bed. It was a different being with no probable soul. Such a demon had nailed me as an enemy; and if Loki hadn't returned, I believed that I would have been dead.

"Sir," I said quietly, "I don't mean to pry; but that you seriously could have murdered me tonight. It wasn't you." I battled his hardened gaze with effort. "Am I in imminent danger because an alien from neither of our worlds wants power? Can he control you?"

"What makes you so sure that the being that you're referencing to is a man?"

"I didn't say 'man'. I said 'alien'." I remarked. "Even you're not a man."

Loki frowned.

"Say again?"

I bit my bottom lip, and my stomach dropped.

"I didn't mean that." I said.

"Then why did you say it?"

"I'm frustrated." I answered. "I'm confused. I'm scared. Loki, you were dreaming. Was he in your head? Was he hurting you?"

Loki looked annoyed.

"Now you are prying," said Loki.

"I'm not prying. I'm concerned."

"I'm touched."

I felt my face flinch and static when I heard his voice turn to ice. Annoyance hardened to threatening irritation; and I didn't intend to rouse his anger. My hurt apparently came through, for Loki passed a hand in resignation over his face and emitted a small sigh, a reach for patience. I turned to look away from him and stared at the wall in front of me. There was tension between us.

My curiosity and apparent perception were becoming liabilities in my world that crossed with Loki's. The ignorance and unknowing that kept our relationship easy and smooth were fading, and my knowledge of his Realm and all things enlightened were fragmenting the suave path ahead of us. I was starting to become very nosy; and although I knew that it would be safer for me to know nothing more about Loki's schemes, I truly wanted to understand every detail.

Most of all, I still wanted to know why—of all Midgardian women, of _all_ women on the other seven Realms—why did he choose me? It wasn't just because I could sing, or else he would have chosen more talented people like Sarah Brightman or Jennifer Nettles. My age was incomprehensible; I was 22 and wholesomely arrogant about my abilities on stage. I wasn't rich; I wasn't poor. I was white brunette with blue eyes—I wasn't specialized with blue hair or amethyst-colored eyes.

I wasn't _anything_ special.

So why me?

I wanted to know why Loki wanted to rule Midgard if he was banished from Asgard. Why couldn't he go back and reclaim what was rightfully his? Where was his brother, Thor? Couldn't he help Loki back into Asgard? Where was he now? Was he in Asgard, or was he, too, somewhere on Earth with a woman of his own—Jane? How about the Frost Giants? What came of them after Loki killed half of their race? Did they ever learn about Vyperia? What happened to a Goddess after she was killed? Was she reincarnated into a newborn Asgardian, raised with the burden of such a title? Or did she become non-existent?

How was Loki planning to rule Midgard? Why waste time with me, a small pawn in his game? He would have to hit hard if he wanted anything more than just a seat in the White House. No one was going to hand him over any power. He would be thought of as a terrorist.

Everything and anything raced through my mind almost all the time.

I couldn't even remember the days where my life was normal before Loki. I couldn't remember a time where I was calm and collected.

Did the authorities learn about Joseph's disappearance? Would they look into Belinda's injuries and know that her destroyed vocal chords were not made by any blunt weapon or a surgical instrument? Would the authorities come looking for him? Would they come here? They would find traces of blood and death. They would find me.

"I don't intend to hurt you," said Loki after a long pause.

I glanced at him awkwardly, having been thrown out of my reverie by such a content whisper. His voice was no longer cold; it wasn't burdened by irritation or condescension. It had become gentle and tender. My look softened, and I met his eyes.

"I don't like hurting you." Loki remarked.

I looked at him momentarily, suddenly barred by the genuine sincerity in his voice. It was

"I don't want to be around whenever it happens again." I said softly. "Never again. Can you promise me that it won't happen again?"

"I can't make that promise." Loki remarked.

"So you don't have control over that monster?"

To my surprise, Loki smiled.

"Do you think that he is a monster?"

"I think that he believes that I am his enemy."

"What have you to say to that if he does?" Loki asked curiously.

"If you are working with him, I am not his enemy."

"And if I am not?"

I found myself almost helpless when he asked me that. An enemy perhaps _more_ powerful than Loki who would want me dead—What else could I do?

"Then what else can I do but burn?" I remarked quietly.

Loki cocked his head to the side and smirked.

I didn't know how to react to that, so I shrugged it off and smiled.

"May I ask one more question before the night ends?" I asked.

Loki gestured for me to do so.

"Sometimes you wear metal and leather," I began. "Then when you come to the opera house, you wear cotton, silk, and flats. If you're not the King of Asgard, and you're not the King of Jotunheim, and you are yet to be the King of Midgard, how are you able to shift into your armor and mortal clothes without appearing in none of those Realms apart from mine?"

Loki grinned.

"Magic."

"Can you go back to Asgard whenever you want to?" I asked.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. That's a question more than what you bargained."

"Please. Just that. Answer me that second question, and I won't ask anything else."

Loki shrugged.

"You want to know if I can go back."

"Yes."

Loki gave me a mischievous, watery smile and replied,

"There are many other ways into the Realms of Yggdrasil than the Bifrost, Harper. Now, no more questions. Come here."


	20. The Final Threshold

Angel of Music

Chapter Twenty: The Final Threshold

Loki pulled me close to him, and my stomach dropped as if I had been pushed off a very high cliff. The standing point of arousal always started like this, and I knew that it was perfectly okay to still feel whatever that I felt for him. Some could call it infatuation; I think that I called it love. No matter what it would be, it was as is. It existed, so that was all that I needed to know.

The atmosphere between us was different than the last time that we were in an intimate situation. We weren't two bodies splayed hungrily on the couch downstairs, nor was I presenting a debt to him. There was no payment; if there was, I had trouble recalling such a debt. Our business transgressions had been paid in full, though I knew there would be more to come—much to my displeasure and unexpected arousal. The atmosphere between us was more physical and possibly the strongest attraction that I had ever felt with another human being.

Our naked bodies lay in the sheets and under the blanket. His hands slipped around my neck in a gentle caress, and he pressed his forehead against mine. The small gesture, just so small in its own nature, gave me some reassurance that there was no such thing as a status quo. I refused to believe that our relationship was no longer a king and servant bond; but he wasn't the angry, disappointed deity that I had seen him to be in the last forty-eight hours.

Even in the last three hours, he hadn't mentioned that I had called him by his name on the smallest occasions. I wondered in split second if he was at least becoming sentimental with me, but I wouldn't hold much hope to that prospect.

If he grew feelings for me, would that compromise his integrity—to fall in love with a mortal woman? Would he see it as a weakness, as a liability for his actions? Would that stand in the way of his world domination, or would it bring him closer to subjects that should kneel before him in time? I dared not question out loud his actions, nor the possibility that he would ever truly fall for me like I did for him.

In my silence, he had closed his eyes to mine. His fingers paraded lightly against neck then he cupped my face in his hands. I tried to study him, to read his expression before he could dive into the transparent emotions on my face as he would always do. It was a slender routine between us, to linger in the moment of quiet. I didn't mind it so much, but I imagined that he liked it as well because my mind was the most active and unstable during a mute transgression; and it granted him slick access to hear and listen my unspoken words.

My mind, according to Loki's perception, was always reeling with thoughts. Only on prevailed rarities did I ever have empty thoughts. Loki might have believed that I was a clever, perceptive girl who had only logic and reasoning to fall back on; or perhaps he favored my passive-aggressive cynicism whenever I was posed with danger among other mortals. I didn't treat him like I had treated Joseph or how I treated Mark—and definitely I didn't treat him like I treated Belinda. I felt more inclined to Loki; on a level that I probably could never understand, he and I were very much alike.

Maybe I reminded him of Vyperia, and that's why he stayed with me for so long. Perhaps, deep-down and just above a shallow grace, I _was_ his Vyperia. I could never know if I was her reincarnation; and it saddened me to think that the only reason why he would ever trouble his time with a mortal woman was because he believed that Vyperia was still alive.

I wondered how he had come to know about the loss of his Goddess wife. If he had been banished after Vyperia was put before the All-Father, who told him that Vyperia was truly dead? Who told him the truth when his own brother didn't tell him?

Or did the Asgardians even know that Loki was alive?

Loki's eyes opened and he gave me a look that I didn't recognize.

"You heard me, didn't you?" I asked in the quiet of the bedroom.

"I did, but you shouldn't burden yourself with insignificant questions and ideas."

"I can't really help it, Sir." I answered softly.

His hands that cupped my face fell back to my neck with a gentle touch.

"I know this."

"Then why—?"

"I said that you _shouldn't_ burden yourself, Harper. You will do so anyway because it is human nature." Loki said calmly. "It is in your nature to seek out acceptance, to seek contact. Your nature is indulgence, curiosity, logic, and reason."

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked.

"Hm, another question from my knowledge-seeking kitten. What have your people always have said in these times, Harper? Oh, yes. 'What did curiosity do to the cat?'"

"I'm not cat." I answered.

"No. You're not." Loki remarked. A small silence granted us equal thoughts. "Do you know that despite your mortality, we are not that much different?"

"We are." I said.

I set my hands on his arms to pry his fingers from my face. Loki looked at me with subtle interest, as if I had said something that amused him. I searched his eyes for confirmation, for the truth; yet I didn't expect to get it any time soon.

"Why me, Loki? Why me?"

"Do you intend to ask me that question until the day that you die or until I do?" Loki said flatly, clearly exhausted.

"You don't intend to replace Vyperia with a woman like me. I don't hold any power of magic or might. I can't even fight off the easiest of targets—Joseph. Why me, Loki? Why, above all others, would you _waste_ your time with me? What is my purpose?"

I indicated a hand to him,

"What's yours?"

"Harper, do not try to tread on waters that will pull you down to drown."

"You pulled me down with you when you came to my bedroom that night," I remarked defiantly.

Loki's eyes flickered with annoyance.

What should have been an intimate situation had turned ugly by my actions. I sought out answers that I did not have a privilege to know or to understand; yet I sought them out anyway. His gentle and tender words fell short, and his deep voice of simmering anger began to break through the smooth barrier. Always, was he sophisticated; but like all sophisticated villains, a savage beast waited to break through thin, bold lines.

"_Harper, do not…pry."_

"You don't intend to hurt me, you said so yourself. So what am I to you? What are you to me? Am I a mortal booty call? What _am_ I?"

I found my voice rising in anger, and Loki did too; except he stared at me with something like remembrance or nostalgia. I sat up in bed; and despite my awareness that I was still naked, I didn't feel shy or timid like I had felt before. My growing frustration had destroyed any feelings of meagerness in front of him.

"I don't know how you intend to rule Midgard. I don't know how you intend to rule _my_ life because of this debt that I have with you. But you're not telling me everything; and I am very confused!" I said angrily. "What is it that you want with me? Why does a god come to Midgard—to Earth—only to _haunt_ a girl's dreams and her footsteps? Why are you here? What am I to you? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?"

Loki stared at me, for the first time, speechless.

I was certain that I had passed my boundary.

Then Loki smiled with fondness.

"You _are_ Vyperia." Loki's voice drawled with triumph and cheer.

Then the room began to spin as if I was in a hazy vortex. Pain ran through my body, through every limb. My chest felt like it was tightening to an unbelievable cavity. Then everything went black…

This would be my very last memory as Harper Solstrom.


	21. From the Beginning

Angel of Music

Chapter Twenty-One: From the Beginning

_Loki struggled to hold on; the slightest move made him move away._

_"_Please,_ Loki…" Vyperia begged._

_Loki looked to Odin._

_"I could have done it, Father!" he cried out. "I could have done it!"_

_Vyperia wearily glanced at Odin, who slowly shook his head._

"For you!"_ Loki said softly, "For all of us…"_

_"No, Loki…"_

_Vyperia turned her eyes to Loki, pleading with him._

_Loki searched his father's eyes for some kind of approval or redemption; but all he saw was disappointment and regret._

_"Loki, no," said Thor quietly, as Loki's face hardened._

"Darling, listen to me!"_ Vyperia cried toward him, knowing that look. _"It doesn't matter what Odin thinks of you! It doesn't matter!"

_Odin glanced at her. Such a calm girl was reduced to one who bargained with death._

_"Loki, grab onto me…I'll pull you up!" she called down to him._

_Yet as she implored and begged him, Loki's eyes met hers one last time._

_Then he let go._

_"NO!" Thor screamed as Loki fell back toward the wormhole._

_Vyperia's gaze emptied as she watched Loki fade from her. Steady tears renewed and fell from her eyes, and he was no more than a fallen star…_

Vyperia's eyes searched down into the star-speckled galaxy as her eyes stared at the circling pit of darkness that had swallowed Loki whole. Her face paled into a shell-shocked expression. Odin glanced at her with cold authority, even as he hauled his first born, Thor, by the leg to pull him back to the safety of the Rainbow Bridge. Odin side-stooped Vyperia and grasped the leg that she held onto with a clammy hand. Vyperia glanced at him as Odin did what she couldn't find the strength to do.

When Thor was pulled back to the edge of the Bridge, Vyperia saw that tears fell aggressively from his eyes; his cheeks were red and his eyes burned with sincere sadness and regret. Thor handed the Staff of the King to Odin, who took it with a strong hold of a father who was boring through the death of his second-born son.

Yet even as Odin helped Thor up to his feet and vaguely offered a helping hand to Vyperia, she looked at him in ruthless scorn. Fury-burning blue lit up in her eyes. She refused Odin's hand. Vyperia turned her head to stare down at the turning abyss once more, heart-broken and grief-stricken.

Thor's blonde hair was matted to his cheeks by his tears; his glossy eyes watched Odin's retreating back as the All-Father walked back to his home to return to the throne of Asgard where things would hopefully resolve to what they once were. Thor lowered his gaze to Vyperia, who still nestled her shaking body on her knees. He looked upon her in the strongest sympathy that any god could ever have for a widow, yet he could not find it in his heart to tell her that Loki was truly gone. Although she looked melancholy, Thor knew that there was no doubt a _lot_ of anger bubbling just beneath the surface; she was just in shock, much so that she couldn't politely process what had transpired.

It wouldn't take long, though. It was just a matter of minutes. Then the Goddess of Guardianship would show just how angry that she could be. That was not Vyperia's true nature, though; always, she proceeded to be a personality of curiosity and knowledge. Although Thor and Vyperia had argued over years and years of right and wrong, her morality seemed at best pointed to forgiveness, logic, and reason; yet from when he was banished, it seemed that Vyperia's logic had rounded to an emotion-driven fact. Loki had influenced her, and now he was gone...

"Vyperia, please." Thor's voice was a steady beat, but a broken one. The deep utterance was one of a man who was holding to the nature of being strong for those who could not be strong for themselves; yet Vyperia could hear the hurt in his voice.

"_Don't 'Vyperia, please' me."_

Thor's eyes widened slightly when he heard the savagely low voice of fury in Vyperia's voice. He couldn't blame her, but he feared that she would react rashly. However, 'rash' was a bizarre word to use after what had happened in the last few hours.

Jotunheim's Realm would have been in splinters if the Bifrost hadn't been destroyed after Thor had reckoned the Bridge. The laboratory itself had plunged into the abyss below, swallowed by the Unknown as it had swallowed Loki. The Asgardians knew that Odin was awake now. They knew that justice had to prevail. Vyperia was left alone to learn the consequences of her actions. Her sentence would be the axe, and Thor knew this. Things couldn't return to as they were. Loki had sent the Destroyer after he and his friends; Jane was almost killed in the battle in that little town. Vyperia's neglect of Jotunheim and Midgard would be hard to repeal, especially if Vyperia was blinded by rage and hate for an All-Father who showed little grief and care about his adopted son.

Thor had broken a truce with Jotunheim and Asgard, and his punishment had been banishment. For Loki, if he hadn't fallen, he most likely would have faced the same sentence. Now, Vyperia had caused several deaths on Jotunheim, caused havoc on Midgard, and broke her oath that she had taken when she had come of age to become the Goddess of Guardianship. Odin was not a forgiving man; and he certainly wasn't going to be lenient with Vyperia if he alone was so severe with Thor.

The law was true; treason was a warrior's most dishonorable act.

Vyperia had wronged the oath of a goddess; and for this, she had to make payment. Whether or not Odin would heed to Vyperia's stand as a queen would be here say, though Thor highly doubted that the All-Father would think that Vyperia was innocent in Loki's temporary rule. Since Odin returned to the throne, he was King again. Loki's rule would be revoked, and Vyperia would no longer have the status of Queen.

"Vyperia, it hurts. I know this," said Thor gently.

Although he knelt down beside her, although he spoke with much-deserved candor and sincerity—although Thor looked at her with softness that he had learned from Jane and his mortal companions—Vyperia's mouth clenched in anger and her eyes glowered at him when she turned her head to meet him. In a deadly whisper, bit on venom that didn't spit from her mouth, she hissed,

"Why did you come _back?_"

Thor was stumped for a moment. He thought that she would mutter soft cries of remorse and broken-hearted pleas for Loki. Instead, he heard the harshest wind emit from her lips, dark and unsteady. Dangerous. Thor wasn't afraid of her, but Vyperia wasn't chosen by Loki as a queen for just her looks.

Vyperia was deadly.

"What?" Thor said, taken aback.

"Why did you _have_ to come back?" Vyperia said angrily. Her voice spat fury as she rounded on him.

Thor rose to his feet when Vyperia struggled to stand.

Her voice was hoarse with rage and distraught; there was no way that she could understand what she was saying. Yet Thor looked at her as if he had insulted him in the strongest of ways. He empathized with her grief; he felt her loss. He had lost a brother, as she had lost a husband. Vyperia's word were in anger, and Thor tried to understand.

Thor held out a hand for her to see his reasoning and the obvious inevitability.

"Vyperia, I was worthy to return to Asgard," began Thor gently. His low voice would have resonated with the angriest of mortals. Vyperia, however, was as Asgardian as they come, and her teeth clenched as she listened to his explanation. "Loki lied to me, and I came back because I knew that what he was planning was wrong. You must understand."

Thor didn't raise his voice.

He wouldn't treat Vyperia in anger as he had treated Loki. No. She needed to be understood, to be empathized.

Yet Vyperia showed her teeth as she bared them with rage,

"YOU SHOULD NEVER HAVE COME BACK!"

In the deep silence between them on the Rainbow Bridge, Vyperia's voice roared. Her voice was scratchy like an old crone's tone; it wasn't attractive at all. In spite of her astounding beauty in the light, and her voice was like an angel while she spoke in dulcet tones, Vyperia sounded atrocious and ugly when she screamed in raucous anger. In the light, she was a beautiful matron. In the shadows, she was everything that a child could fear.

"Vyperia, you do not know what you are saying."

"YOU RUINED—_EVERYTHING—!"_ Vyperia panted as tears began to fall down her face.

Thor jumped slightly when he heard the light sounds of a snake's hiss emit from Vyperia's throat. Her lesser powers exhibited reptilian reactions, a hiss or venomous spit were signs of anger. Thor already knew this, but it was one level to irritate the living fire out of a woman; it was another to rouse a furious serpent. Thor watched her with uncertainty. One could comfort a woman, and she would fall into his arms. Or he could comfort her, and she could kill him on the spot.

Vyperia muttered a small sob, but her face remained absolutely livid.

Thor's fingers around the Hammer, Mjolnir, tightened in anticipation as Vyperia took a step toward him in angry repose. She seemed to struggle to breathe, but she wasn't giving into a seizure or cardiac arrest. Vyperia was angry enough that she couldn't find enough breath to use to insult him; and that alone explained to Thor that she was deeply upset.

"You ruined everything," Vyperia repeated. She jutted a finger into the metal plate upon his chest. It made a dim _ching _noise. "You ruined my life. _Mine._ I was queen. I had a husband. He took me by his side on the throne, and then you came _back._ You could have spent your life on Midgard. I know about that woman, that scientist. _Jane Foster._ You were prepared to spend your entire life down there, _WHY DIDN'T YOU!?"_

Yes, he could have stayed on Earth with the lovely Jane Foster and her hilarious band of scientists...

"You and Loki were _killing_ people." Thor said incredulously.

"Frost Giants," Vyperia corrected. "And I only obliged because Loki wanted it done, and it seemed like it would make him proud."

"Loki's pride—?" Thor announced incredulously once more, but Vyperia interrupted him with renewed fury,

"Not _his _pride, you imbecile." Vyperia snapped infuriatingly. "Odin. _Your_ father. And everything would have been as it should be until your self-righteous save-the-day hero buttocks came inside the room and destroyed everything that Loki had been planning from the very beginning. This is your fault!"

Thor opened his mouth to argue, yet Vyperia forestalled him with louder tones,

"It is! You should never have found Mjolnir in the first place. You were supposed to remain arrogant, conceited, and strut about Midgard, lost and forgotten! This is _all_ your fault!"

"IT'S NOT MY FAULT!" Thor's voice thundered in the silence.

Vyperia winced as he yelled at her in his deep, rolling voice. It halted her momentarily, for she fell back a little way to step out of the direction to where he was yelling. It didn't take her long to recuperate, for she stepped up to him and poked him in the chest with a pale finger.

"IT IS YOUR FAULT, OAF!" Vyperia screamed. "IF YOU HADN'T COME BACK, ODIN WOULDN'T HAVE KNOWN ABOUT THE TRUTH! ODIN WOULD HAVE BEEN—"

"HE WOULD HAVE BEEN RULING ASGARD UNDER FALSE PRETENSES!" Thor bellowed self-righteously. "Father would have awakened and took back what was his. Loki wouldn't have stayed on the throne as long as I was alive-!"

"WHY DO YOU THINK HE SENT THE DESTROYER AFTER YOU!?" Vyperia shrieked furiously.

Thor halted as she had, except he wore a look of hurt rather.

"Vyperia, that can't be true."

"Thor, you were the golden boy. The first son, the heir to the throne. All of Loki's life, _your_ father made himself look like a hero when he rescued Loki from the abandoned ice, but he wasn't. Loki was a tool for Odin's back up plan with Laufey. Loki was _never_ meant to have the throne of Asgard. It was a toy. A trick, a plight, and your precious father _knew_ of this!" Vyperia shrieked furiously, and she jabbed a finger into Thor's chest. "_Your _father, not Loki's. And you come back to announce to me that Loki would not have wanted the throne under false pretenses? AT LEAST HE WOULD HAVE A THRONE!"

Thor stepped back, staring at her. Vyperia's breathing was erratic. Her face reddened. Her knuckles were pale. Tears ran down her face. She was begging for oxygen as she inhaled and exhaled at an alarming rate.

"Vyperia," Thor breathed, "You can't excuse his wrongs by bad parenting."

"I can," Vyperia said through quick breaths. "I can. I have. I helped Loki through out his entire life go through Odin's favoritism of you. Loki knows what he knows because Frigga taught him magic. Odin did _nothing._ I was his safety net. He chose _me_."

Thor shook his head, "Vyperia, you should never have bargained for a throne that didn't belong to you. You and my brother would have ended up together anyway-"

"I didn't do it to get a throne, Thor," Vyperia argued. "He chose _me._ I married him, and we would have ruled Asgard together. And whatever children we would have had, I would have told them the truth from the very beginning, as it should have been done with Loki. Your blessed father knew that, and still he refused. I didn't marry him for the throne; he married me because he and I know what those hand-maidens think of me. I know what they say! He did it for me! And the throne _was_ mine. It was mine. I had power. It was _mine!_"

Thor stared at her, surprised. Vyperia was never one to hoard power, but it seemed that she had a taste of what being Queen was about. Thor hated to wonder what she would have done if Frigga was in Odin's place. Would she have created this master plan to gain Frigga's place? Oh, he couldn't bear to think of it.

"The throne _was_ yours," Thor said quietly. "No longer."

Vyperia glared at him. Thor stepped toward her.

"The throne no longer belongs to you. It goes back to Mother since Odin is now king."

"And what happens to me, Thor? What happens to me? I know my punishment." Vyperia shrugged, but she looked like she was wallowing in despair, and not just from Loki.

It was helpless knowing. Knowing what was going to happen, and not knowing was to happen were two different types of helplessness. She knew her punishment would be inevitable.

"If I am to die," said Vyperia softly, "then what is there left for me?"

"I could talk to Father," said Thor softly. "I could ask him to spare your life."

"For what purpose? For yours?" Vyperia made a small whimper. "I lost the _only_ person that I truly cared about, Thor. What would be punishment would be to live like nothing happened, to act like the world is all right again. To live without him, and is this not how it feels like?"

Thor saw her eyes cast down.

She turned to look at the abyss once more.

"I won't die by Odin's hand. I'll die by my own."

Thor's eyes widened in horror as Vyperia took a running start to the edge of the Rainbow Bridge.

"No, Vyperia, no!"

Vyperia raced across the Bridge. Colors pounced off from where her footsteps landed as her agile limbs carried her to the edge of what would be the end of her pain. Thor dropped Mjolnir onto the Bridge and ran after her.

"Here I come!" Vyperia cried out. A small smile happened upon her face.

She came to a foot away from the precipice.

Thor's boots pounded away as he desperately reached out to grab Vyperia's hand, leg, shoulder—anything to stop her from this instant regret.

She was five inches…four…three…two—

Thor landed hard on Vyperia as he slammed her to the Bridge with the most ferocity that he could muster. The only part of her that managed to pass the edge of the Bridge was Vyperia's arm, and it waved helplessly over the side as Vyperia struggled beneath Thor's body. Her fingers splayed against the underside of the Bridge as if she desired to break the prism beneath her, but alas she was not granted that small mercy.

Her words cut into Thor as he heard her shriek in despair—

"I want to die! Let me die! Let me go!"

Her words were bold and strong with fury; but as she called out to no one, her helplessness and desperation broke her strength. Her cries became fragile, loose, lost, and hopeless. The Goddess in Thor's arms broke as she sobbed against him, abandoned. Her pleas to be put out of her misery lessened. Thor heard a small stream of a low-uttered "Please" emit from her sad mouth.

From the seat of Asgard's throne, Odin looked ahead with a sturdy gaze. He wasn't alone. While his eyes remained stone, he coddled a crying Frigga in his arms as she wept for her lost son.

In the day to come after Loki's mournful death, Thor approached Odin as one would approach a vengeful king. Thor wasn't appropriated in his silver metal and red cape; he approached the All-Father in a brown shoulder-over and a tunic. Odin gazed at him. This morning, Frigga was nowhere to be found. Odin sat in his throne as if he had returned from a long and laborious crusade, seated with Gungnir in his hand with the air of a man who had gone through years of torment. In that ruling, it was accurate. Yet in his eyes, there was no sadness. They weren't puffy like Thor or Frigga's eyes had been this morning. It wasn't vanity. It was cold, hard authority of a King who had to remain apathetic to all things justified and political.

There were two guards on the right hand side of the throne room, readied to enter the war criminal known as Vyperia Sallerius. Odin looked upon the up-coming warrior with interest. He wasn't at all surprised to see Thor, God of Thunder, approaching the All-Father after learning about Loki's rule of Asgard. Nor did Thor seem so shocked to notice Odin's lack of grief. They looked at one another after knowing at Thor had been banished to Midgard, and now he had returned _truly_ worthy of the title and powers that Thor possessed. It wasn't awkward. It was an understanding between them.

However, this only made it serenely obvious for Thor's purpose to come an hour before Vyperia's sentence; a sentence that, no doubt, Thor already knew would be death. Considering the friendship between Thor and Vyperia, which had been strained in the past but kept civil for Loki's favor, Odin wondered about Thor's intention for his unexpected arrival.

"Thor Odinson, it shouldn't escape the mind of even a prince that he should not come in unannounced without an appointment to the High King of Asgard. My son, what has led you to neglect that as the heir to the throne? Is it the concern of the war criminal?"

Odin saw the slightest pinch in Thor's face when he referred to Vyperia as a criminal, rather than what she really was—his daughter-in-law. Thor frowned slightly; he couldn't deny that Odin's apathy affected him even after less than a day had passed.

"I haven't come for the concern of a criminal, Father. It's for my sister-in-law," answered Thor. "All of us have lost someone dear to us, even if we must stay apathetic for the light of her crimes. I know, Father, what you must think of her. She is sentenced to death as a Goddess who went against her oath; but, in honesty, she was merely carrying out Loki's orders as he provided them. She would have been guilty of treason if she hadn't carried out Loki's orders since he was the King while you were Asleep and I was gone."

"What are you asking of me, my son? What you want, I cannot give to you. It is an implication that royalty negates the law, and I am not about to teach the young warriors that as long as they wear a crown or a tiara that their actions are excused."

"I'm not asking you to drop Vyperia's charges, Sir," answered Thor politely.

"What you want to ask is treason…" Odin returned calmly.

"Or sympathy…for a family member who has lost a loved one, as you and I have," Thor corrected sincerely. "The kingdom mourns Loki's death. As do I. As so does mother. So do you. He was my brother, and I loved him. Although he was vengeful, and he tried to have me killed, I do not think that he would want Vyperia to pay for his actions."

"Do you think Loki, God of Lies and Deceit, truly cared for Vyperia, Thor? Or was it one of his rues to trick all of us into his plan to have me de-throned."

Odin gazed down at his son from the chair, staring at him with observation. He studied Thor's keen face. Thor had grown and matured since his weeks in Midgard with the mortals. He had learned things that were abstract and misunderstood, and now it seemed that the darkness cleared. Thor could think like a King; but he was passionate about his loved ones, and he would risk his life to save those he loved. Thor would risk _all_ that he had to save his brother, and Odin knew this. Now, he wondered if Thor was doing the very same to save the part of Loki that was still sane and true, the beautiful and matched cleverness of Vyperia Sallerius.

It was a beautiful thing, perhaps the most familial thing that Odin would see Thor do; but by the law of Asgard, it was treason and biased hypocrisy. So when Odin asked Thor if Loki loved Vyperia, truly, madly, sincerely, he wondered what Thor would say

Thor clasped his hands together in formality, yet his voice was of informal request. He could know that Odin was not above parental sympathetic gestures; surely, he could feel some ounce of sadness for Loki's absence. Yet Odin's gaze didn't waiver. Surely Odin would feel a little sadness for having to discipline Vyperia. During Loki and Thor's excursions in the past, it had always been Vyperia who was the voice of reason and logic; always the one to run for help in case the situation turned grave.

"I believe that the part of Loki that isn't crushed or vengeful belongs to Vyperia," answered Thor honestly. "They were inseparable in childhood. They were inseparable before my coronation before the Jotuns entered Asgard. Just last night, I had to stop Vyperia from leaping off the edge of the Bridge."

"And how is she now?" asked Odin curiously.

"How else would a widow react to watching her husband fall to an abyss, Father?" remarked Thor, slightly calloused. _What a ridiculous question to ask._ "Would you be heart-broken if _you_ watched Mother die?"

Odin didn't answer.

Thor bit his tongue.

"I'm sorry, Father." Thor muttered. He pressed on to fully answer the All-Father's questions. "Vyperia is grief-stricken, angry, heart-broken, and shell-shocked. Anger that I have never seen irks the ugliest aspects of her face. Father, she is mad with rage."

"Thor, my son, I would help Vyperia out of the depth of a heart that sees her as a daughter; that is what she is to me. But she must be punished for her crimes. She might be able to see the light before she leaves this life, but I doubt that I can carry out her anger when I know that Loki's actions were wrong. They were abhorrent, invented from bottled rage and jealousy.

"We grieve the loss of Loki Laufeyson," continued Odin. "But justice is in order, and we cannot take kindly to treason."

"He was my brother," said Thor intently. "Loki _Odinson._ I'm not defending his actions. Loki's schemes were immoral and wrong; but he knew rule as I never will. He was acting out of a lie that he was fed his entire life, that he was born to be a king. Vyperia told me that when I had to watch her be chained to the dungeon wall. Father…"

"You do not understand, and she never did," said Odin calmly. He looked upon Thor with an even gaze, but Thor could tell that Odin was slowly becoming annoyed. "When I told Vyperia about Loki's true parentage, it was because she _already_ knew. It is, as you know, her basic instinct to understand all parental links to all races; so I could not hide it from me. She came asking about it, and—"

"And you made her swear _never_ to tell Loki that he was adopted." Thor muttered. "I know that. She told me _why."_

Thor's face fell from patience. He looked irritated, but his voice remained calm.

"Father, why didn't you tell Loki the truth? You didn't do it as a courtesy to him. It was an act of war, to settle a debt between you and Laufey; but Laufey abandoned him anyway because he was a deformed Frost Giant. What would you tell Loki, then, if when you offered him back to Laufey and Laufey rejected him because of his true nature? What would you have said?"

"Thor…"

"Loki would have discovered it for himself, Father. He did. In Jotunheim, when I brought my friends there. During a fight, he found out about it. Why, after a _thousand_ years, didn't you tell him? Did you think that he would never have discovered the truth?"

"It was selfish of me to believe that it would have never hurt Loki," Odin said calmly. "I know this, as your mother has reminded me from time and time again to tell him about it. It was an honest man's mistake. I am merely a man, and that is the truth."

"You made mistakes. I made a few." Thor said gently. "Vyperia is a woman. She is a goddess; and we are gods. She has made mistakes too."

"Thor," Odin breathed. "You plead for the life of Vyperia, a goddess who purposefully broke her oath and allowed the Destroyer to attempt to murder you when you were still in mortal form. You allowed her to let Loki send it out to Midgard where it attacked fifty innocent lives. It was intentional that you would die."

"Vyperia told me that I was never meant to return to Asgard, I know." Thor said.

"And you accepted that with open arms, have you?" Odin remarked unkindly.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I forgive her, Father." Thor said. "I forgive her just as I forgave Loki. I didn't want him to fall. I tried to save him."

"Do you think that, if you had died, that Vyperia would be mourning your death while seated on the throne? Do you, Thor?"

Odin waited for Thor's answer, but his adamant son didn't respond as quickly as he had been expecting. Thor was not the cruel, selfish boy as he had been when he had left. Thor thought with his mind, yet the brutality would never be erased.

"Perhaps you should have been punished by Vyperia," Thor answered.

"Say that again." Odin instructed.

"I didn't know that Loki was a Frost Giant until _after _yesterday," Thor continued. "I knew that he was adopted, but I didn't know on what grounds. Father, Vyperia said that he had always hated the truth about how you kept away his true parentage_. Why_ didn't you tell him the truth?"

"I told Loki this, and he shunned away."

"He didn't shun away; he was heart-broken."

"First, you must _have _a heart." Odin remarked.

Thor winced.

Odin pressed on, "Thor, you didn't need to know the truth about Loki's true parentage because it would have made you biased. I needed him to feel safe around us all, to fit in."

"And Vyperia was the only one who truly understood—she, and Mother," added Thor boldly. "Don't have her killed. She was acting in as a wife and a queen, not a goddess. If that was her priority, she would have _killed_ me a long time ago for going into Jotunheim. I went to Jotunheim and killed a lot of Frost Giants. She should have killed you, too, when you battled Laufey's men. She should have killed my grandfather—your father—when he wiped out those Dark Elves. But she spared us all in light of the good that came out of it!"

Odin absorbed Thor's penetrating words.

"So you think that all of this is good, my son? All of what Loki has done to Asgard, to Jotunheim, to Midgard?"

"Vyperia's allowance of Loki's inadmissible scheme brought me _back_," said Thor. "If I hadn't gone to Jotunheim in the first place, I would still be that arrogant boy whom you were about to appoint as King. I'm smarter now, Father. I know better."

Odin pondered his son's words, but still, he wasn't convinced.

"In Jotunheim, Thor, Vyperia joined your band of warriors. She allowed you to murder Laufey's men."

"Loki persuaded her to come with us; she at first refused." Thor argued.

"But she _did_ come with you, didn't she?" Odin said confidently. "She was easily swayed."

"Yes, but by a God whose main territory is mischief and cunning!" Thor argued irritably. "Vyperia gave Loki kindness and friendship."

"Why didn't he get that from you?" Odin remarked.

"He did," Thor said. "But he was jealous of me…I can see why now. You treated him differently. She didn't. She possibly treated him _better_ than how you treated him. And perhaps, I treated him badly as well."

"Why are you telling me this?" asked Odin softly.

"Vyperia may have broken her oath to guard the Jotuns this _one_ time; but she was acting in that oath the moment that _you_ brought a Frost Giant's deformed offspring out of Jotunheim."

Odin considered his words. There was a long silence. Thor's arguments so far were sane and reasonable. Clearly, he had been given some very good thought to this; then again, Vyperia might have listed everything that she wanted to say to Odin, but her death conceded everything in time. Thor hadn't sounded this coherent since…_Well…_

"Thor, you've learned something from being on Midgard, didn't you?" Odin questioned gently. "You certainly have."

"Yes."

"What _did _you learn?"

"Compassion. Patience. Loyalty. Tolerance." Thor answered as if he were to list them on his hand. Then he added, "Love."

Odin nodded, though he made no intention to respond to the last beautiful lesson. He had no intention of acknowledging that Thor had fallen in love with a mortal woman. It was not an Asgardian standard to fall in love with a different race. Though, clearly, Loki had never abided by that rule ever since he reached puberty.

"Perhaps Vyperia could learn a bit of loyalty," muttered Odin.

"She already has." Thor remarked. "Father, I'm not begging for you to release Vyperia. I'm asking for you to spare her life. Do not let her punishment skide, but some mercy should be allowed for her. Vyperia is family, at least."

Odin stroked his beard. Then a solid, cynical, and spiteful tone chipped away the handsome, warm aura between Odin and Thor—

"Don't do me any favors."

Thor turned to see Vyperia standing in the middle of the throne room. Two guards flanked her. She was shackled by her hands, but nothing else. Vyperia jerked her shoulders out of the guards' grasps,

"Get off me…"

Once upon a time, the beautiful princess had been draped in blue and white and recently green and gold. Her hair used to be clean, slick, and draped down her slender bosom. Her eyes used to behold something charming and amusing, always that familiar twinkle of curiosity that was both a burden and blessing in her muse. A smile used to carve her face almost permanently, witty and sweet. She used to look like a caring mother.

Now, Vyperia was the nightmare of a child who feared to be adopted by the wicked stepmother. Her dark, brunette hair was curly and unkempt; it was matted to her tear-stained cheeks. Her eyes were puffy; deep blue eyes glared across the room from above gray, swollen patches beneath her lids. She wore a dark blue tunic, and she was barefoot.

She looked the way she felt: distraught, burdened, miscarried, untidy, and very unstable.

Vyperia looked dangerous.

While the guards no longer held onto her shoulders with a vice grip, they steadied her with long chains that led from her manacles to the end of the reigns in their strong fingers. Vyperia approached Thor freely, bearing up at him with dislike.

"I told you to _not_ meddle." Vyperia snapped. "You _never_ listen."

"I wanted to make it easier for you," answered Thor honestly.

"You never talked anything out before. What good does it do you _now?_" Vyperia hissed. "Wouldn't you rather walk up to your father and punch your argument into him? I would."

"VYPERIA!"

Odin's call to her turned Vyperia's head, but she didn't look too perturbed by his presence. Vyperia looked away from Thor to meet Odin's gaze. She smiled at him with cynical suppression; it didn't meet her eyes.

"Vyperia," said Odin, "you are guilty of—"

"Look. At. You," breathed Vyperia calmly.

Odin stopped speaking when he heard her voice. He listened to her, despite her interruption.

"Look at you," she repeated. "Back on the throne, seated where once a true King sat before you."

"My father was a very good king, as I have aspired to be—"

"I'm not talking about your father," snapped Vyperia. "I'm talking about Loki. He deserves that throne. Not you." She glanced at Thor and added, "Nor you."

"Don't make this worse," said Thor quietly.

"How could it _possibly_ be worse?" remarked Vyperia savagely. "No, I say that if it comes to death, let me do it myself. I'll at least have a final say."

"Vyperia Sallerius," Odin remanded, "You are guilty of—"

"I've done nothing wrong," Vyperia remarked casually. "So I am not guilty of anything."

"DO NOT INTERRUPT YOUR KING!" Odin bellowed angrily.

_"BUT YOU ARE NOT MY KING!"_ Vyperia roared out into the silence.

Odin stared at her, though he didn't look shocked. Thor stepped aside to allow Vyperia to step forward. Thor had anticipated that Vyperia would go down swinging; when angered, it wasn't like her to take such a raw beating without throwing in a few punches of her own. Vyperia intended to be heard one way or another; it was often the reason why, if ever, Loki and she argued. Vyperia's fury, though, left her unafraid of anything that Odin would do. Her rage protected her, as Loki's protected him.

For her courage and furious stability, Thor had to admire Vyperia.

"If your intention," said Vyperia, "is to have me waste away in the dungeons then by my request, kill me. I will not die by your hand. I should die at mine. Send me to Jotunheim where I will be slaughtered by a king who could match the parentage of mine. For you, Odin All-Father, do not have that privilege."

Odin made a small look of being impressed, but it was mockery.

"Anger rages within you."

"Anger is all I have, Odin All-Father." Vyperia said. "Now."

"You will not escape death, Vyperia."

"I have no intention of doing so."

"Then what would you take as punishment if not death?"

"It is not in your nature to bargain with me."

"But it is in yours to like bargains." Odin replied. "Out of respect and the arguments that Thor has given me, I have decided that you will decide your own punishment. You know that you have done wrong; and you intend to pay for your mistakes. If your only allowance is to not die by my hand, I will grant it to you."

"Send me to Midgard where you once banished a King to learn his lesson," answered Vyperia coldly. "Doesn't that serve your purpose? You _always_ have a purpose, don't you, All-Father? The war, the truce, Loki, Thor, and now me? I'm that example, aren't I, that no crime goes unpunished? You want to see a schemer; don't look at Loki. Why don't you turn that powered perception and great truth on yourself and see what you are."

Odin didn't take her bait; she wanted to antagonize him. However, a king knows when he is being pulled out for self-assassination. Odin waited for a minute. Then he asked,

"And what will you do, Vyperia, if I cast you out? You will never come back as a goddess."

"Since Loki is…dead…I have no intention of doing so," Vyperia answered. She hesitated. "However, if he comes back to find me—when he and I are together again—we will make certain that our lives will start when yours has ended."

"Is this a threat?" asked Odin patiently. "I will take it very seriously if it is so."

"It's a threat," remarked Vyperia. "I intend to keep it as well."

Odin smirked uncharacteristically.

"All right, Vyperia. I will grant you this small measure. You will be sent out to Midgard, living in the body and form of a defenseless mortal. You will live and breathe as a mortal does, live in life as a mortality-deficient being. No one will know you. Because you have disgraced the title that you were given, yet you have watched over the people of Asgard, I shall grant you anonymity. All Realms will believe that Vyperia Sallerius is dead, but you shall live on with peace of mind."

This was going to be the end of the deal; however, Thor saw a dark aspect appear on Odin's face. Thor didn't like that look. Vyperia didn't either, for her confident expression weakened as Odin leaned in to speak directly to her.

"You enjoy bargains, don't you, Vyperia?"

"I do," said Vyperia softly.

"Then here is one. If Loki should return to find you, if he should grant his presence to a being much more inferior to him as he believes; you may burst from your mortal form and become Vyperia Sallerius. You will never know your true alias until he finds you."

Odin shrugged.

"What are the odds that he would choose a mortal woman when it took him _decades_ to believe that a fellow Asgardian was his better half?"

On that note, Vyperia's sufficient gaze smoldered to self-doubt.

But before she could refuse this punishment, Odin aimed his staff Gungnir at Vyperia's body and then blasted a very loud and aluminous light into her skull. Her very shape disintegrated.

The only thing that remained of her being was the shackles that had been around her wrists.


	22. Together Again

Angel of Music

Chapter Twenty-Two: Together Again

Loki's triumphant smile beamed across his face as the body of Harper Solstrom slowly tore itself apart from the dark locks of brunette hair to the pale legs and feet of the mortal woman. The burst of light that emitted from the human's form was the extenuated bargain being granted from Odin's cruelty—truly, Loki had finally found Vyperia Sallerius, hidden and reincarnated in the mortal form of a human being.

His suspicions about the girl known as Harper had been accurate by far, and it had become more apparent to him as he had spent time with the lovely Harper. Harper's personality, and her innate ability to sing, had driven Loki to believe that this mortal was none like the others those of whom he had invaded during the sleepless nights. No dreams were as consistent of battlefield glories or undecided sparks in the bedroom as Harper's dreams; and, like everything else that Loki knew to be true, it was not coincidence.

In his wake, on the bed, the pale flesh of Harper began to peel away like a second skin. As a snake would shed its skin, Vyperia's sharp and bold facial features solidified from Harper's meek and timid attributes. The arrogance and confidence in Vyperia's face became more apparent; soon, Harper's shell was nothing more than a remnant of what used to be a mobile servant.

In sweet relief that he thought would never come to his mind and body, Loki looked upon with appreciation and long-lost gratitude as he gazed down at the light, cerulean eyes of Vyperia Sallerius.

Mortal and fragile Harper Solstrom was dead; Vyperia Sallerius lived again.

Loki looked down upon his queen. His hands went numb at the sight of her, a breath of fresh air left his mouth as his light, emerald gaze met the ocean tides that pushed and pulled in the circling pools of her own penetrating gaze. Loki was never transfixed by Vyperia's expressions, but one would become truly mad if one ever forgot the look of the Goddess of Guardianship. She was the embodiment of all things motherly and fatherly; and the epitome of vengeance and despair if ever she was challenged by threat.

Whatever cold anguish and hatred that existed because of the supposed death of Vyperia, ice melted from Loki's beating heart as he stared down at the one woman whom had understood him from the very beginning.

Although she was stripped of her title as goddess, Loki's heart still raced as it had when he had first laid eyes on her on the battlefield—where she, too, had fallen in love with him as well.

Loki's pallid face broke into an even smile, purified with genuine life—a certainty of happiness that hadn't touched his nerve since he had fallen from grace.

The silence engulfed the long-lost lovers as if a story had been made about them. It was the unspoken truth between them, that finally despite all cosmic resistance to keep the star-crossed lovers apart, they were together at last.

Loki felt his stomach turn when Vyperia's pretty mouth widened.

She smiled at him affectionately, as she had whenever he was around.

Loki wrapped his arms around Vyperia's waist as he hovered above her, never again to allow her to vanish from him. Vyperia raised a hand to caress his high cheekbone. When her fingers touched his face, he closed his eyes in regard.

"I might have taken you for granted all these years," breathed Loki quietly, his eyes still closed. "Never again. I promise," he added, and he opened his eyes to see her still smiling with warmth.

Vyperia didn't utter a word, but Loki saw a somber look in her eyes. She looked sad and happy to see him, lost and torn between what was racing through her mind and what she had wanted to say all these years while she was imprisoned in the back of the brain of a mortal woman. Loki raised a hand to caress the fingers that slowly caressed the apple of his cheek.

"Speak to me." Loki answered.

Vyperia smiled again, as if broken. Then, quietly, tearfully, she whispered,

"_I'm sorry."_

Loki stared at her, confused.

"What?"

"I'm sorry, Loki." Vyperia remarked.

When Loki continued to gaze at her, puzzled, her smile weakened.

"We made a promise. We remember what we told each other?" asked Vyperia gently. "Remember what we said? If we were separated…"

"You would search for me," Loki said. "And I, for you."

Then a few tears slowly fell from Vyperia's eyes to guide slowly down the pale apples of her cheekbones. She didn't show an expression of sadness on her face, but there was soft regret in her voice.

"I tried," she said. "I tried, but Harper—"

"_No."_ Loki breathed. He gestured for her to silence at once.

Although he saw her open her mouth in objection, Vyperia bit her lip; Loki saw a few more tears run down her cheek.

"_I tried…"_ she said.

Loki shook his head,

"You bargained with Odin," said Loki softly, though there was dangerous resentment in his voice.

Not for his wife did he clench his teeth in anger. His rage directed to Odin who had deliberately forced Loki and Vyperia apart with the intention of an eternity of separation. Loki's expression hardened when he realized that Vyperia was blaming herself for their two decades of separation.

"He sent you to a prison," said Loki quietly. His voice dropped as he spoke to her.

Vyperia nodded as she listened to Loki's soft reassurance, and she felt the sincerity of comfort when she recognized the expression of rage toward the All-Father.

"I blame you for _nothing,"_ Loki said strongly.

He considered her for a moment.

Then Vyperia smiled.

"You searched for me when you were told that I was dead. I thought that you were dead, love. I thought that you were gone. Had I known that you were alive, I would _never _have tried to—"

"I thought that you were dead too, pet," said Loki; he deliberately interrupted her to stop her from finishing that sentence.

"I wanted to tell you," said Vyperia. "I wanted to tell you that I was Harper, but you would have thought that I was trying to mock. I have _always_ feared your anger, Loki. But you lie, my love," she added, yet her tone was slightly sweet. "You lie about everything."

"Not to you," Loki pointed out.

"Your anger frightens me, but your ambition is carried out by it. 'Trust my rage', you said." Vyperia recalled fondly.

Loki leaned forward and kissed Vyperia on the lips. He found a succulent spark rush through him as his lips touched hers; always was her kiss the most intoxicating tribute to their relationship. Her body was a temple, by far the most beautiful of porcelain figures that he had ever laid eyes on; yet her lips could entice him with just the smallest of kisses. Her voice could follow with the seductive note of words of intensity and prediction; and all would form the exact recipe of what could have him lying on his back begging for release.

Vyperia smiled in the kiss as she heard a small moan of pleasure escape Loki's mouth.

She pulled away gently.

"How, Loki, could you possibly know that Harper was me?"

Loki smiled, and he leaned his mouth to the rim of her ear,

"_Your voice is both poison and honey to me."_

Vyperia smiled happily.

Loki had searched for his queen, and here she had been—singing at an Opera House.

Vyperia Sallerius had been infamous on Asgard for her natural singing voice. As a goddess of parentage, it was her instinctive ability to lull unruly children to sleep with an irresistible lullaby. For this, Loki had searched a mortal with a beautiful singing voice. Loki had wanted Harper to sing; for whenever she belted out beautiful lyrics, it released a little piece of Vyperia every time—honeyed notes met with serene and nerve-tingling pitches was the open and wet vocal chords of a Goddess whose voice could calm a horde of angry storms.

Loki had been intoxicated by Harper's voice; and now, he knew why.

Vyperia wrapped her arms around Loki's shoulders to hold him close to her, where her fingers relaxed upon the flexed muscles of her King's back. She embraced him with warmth and caring, understanding, and truth. Vyperia's words clung to gentle balance as she spoke to Loki softly. He listened to her.

"_I was stripped of my powers that were given to me by grace. I am no more than a woman whose name is written in the mythology books of mortal scholars. I am no more than a human being."_

Loki's brow furrowed as he heard her softly expressed truth. He raised his head to see a sad expression on her face.

"Would you have me, still, although I am far more inferior to you than what I was when I last saw you?" Vyperia asked.

Loki searched her eyes. Then he kissed her briefly on the lips and said tenderly,

"You and I are equals; always, we will remain this way. Love makes us so." Loki said gently.

He took one of her hands in his.

"Sing for me?"

Vyperia smiled. Softly, just only where he could hear her if anyone else had been in the room with them, Vyperia's famous vibrato delivered,

"_Pitiful creature of Darkness,_

_What kind of life have you known?"_

Loki smiled.

"_God give me courage to show you,_

_You are not alone!"_

Vyperia raised her head to meet Loki's smile in more passionate kiss than what they had shared together on this Earth.

For a moment, they would stay like this enveloped in each other's arms and tangled up in the sheets.

For the plans that Loki had arranged, what romance would be able to blossom during the heat of battle?


End file.
